To Begin Again
by RZZMG
Summary: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy lead a ragtag group of rebels against Lord Mort - Voldemort's new, stronger incarnation. Features Vampires,Veela,Werewolves,Dementors,Ghosts,Poltergeists,Succubi,Naga,Ancient Spells,Animal Transfiguration/Animagi,DeathlyHallows,War Violence. Post-Hogwarts A/U. Draco/Hermione, Blaise/Pansy, Neville/Penelope, Jeremy/Willemu,Snape,Theo,Viktor,Harry,etc.
1. Ch 1: Saying Goodbye

**TIMELINE:** Begins 2000 (won't give an end date, as that's a plot spoiler)

**MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): **Willem Bradley, Philip Cadwallader, Penelope Clearwater, Fay Dunbar, Hermione Granger, Astoria Greengrass, Viktor Krum, Su Li, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, Cormac McLaggen, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Jeremy Stretton, Lord Voldemort, Charlie Weasley, Blaise Zabini

**OTHER CHARACTERS FEATURED/MENTIONED (alphabetical order, last name): **Tamsin Applebee, Katie Bell, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Lavender Brown, Flora Carrow, Hestia Carrow, Cho Chang, Stephen Cornfoot, Vincent Crabbe, Dennis Creevey, Tracey Davis, Dobby, Marietta Edgecombe, Natalie Fairbourne, Seamus Finnegan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Vicky Frobisher, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Rubeus Hagrid, Terence Higgs, Carl Hopkins, Angelina Johnson, Megan Jones, Bellatrix Lestrange, Luna Lovegood, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Remus Lupin, Morag MacDougall, Laura Madley, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Kenny Markham, Minerva McGonagall, Ernie Mcmillan, Walden McNair, Anna Mirfield, Graham Montague, Nagini the snake, Maxine O'Flaherty, Thomas Paley, Julie Parkes, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Adam Pickering, Adrian Pucey, Orla Quirke, Anthony Rickett, Demelza Robins, Thorfinn Rowle, Roderick Seaton, Aurora Sinistra, Jason Swann, Dean Thomas, Tom of the Leaky Cauldron, Sybil Trelawney, Romilda Vane, Cris Warrington, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Fleur Delacoeur-Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Percy Weasley, Ron Weasley, Oliver Wood, Rose Zeller + some original characters

**STORY DETAILS: **Novel compliant up until The Final Battle of Hogwarts (May 2, 1998). After that, it's an Alternate Universe entirely (Harry lost the war). This will be a multi-part fic. A Draco x Hermione story mainly (with a lot of other pairings in the mix – no spoilers!).

**SUMMARY: **The Second Wizarding War ended in 1998 when, in an act of desperation, Lord Voldemort cast a spell to merge his final two Horcruxes – Nagini and Harry Potter – with himself. A new Dark Lord arose from this unholy union – one more powerful than Voldemort alone could have hoped to be. Thus began The Third Wizarding War, which was intended by the new Lord, calling himself simply Mort (arrogantly ascribing himself to the position as The Grim Reaper - Death, himself), to be a global domination by the forces of darkness. Two years pass. By the new millennium, a small band of surviving wizards and witches are all that remain to oppose this dark menace to the world in the United Kingdom. Lead by Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, this struggling band of never-say-die, courageous hearts battle the odds to bring an end to Voldemort's reign of terror once and for all.

**RATING:** M+ (NC-17 – _extreme_ sexual situations – both heterosexual and homosexual, to include everything from consensual sex to non-consensual sex/rape, bondage, oral, anal, sado-masochism, masturbation, prostitution, pregnancy; extreme war violence and behavior often seen during war-times, including theft, murder, suicide, torture, deceit, profanity, alcohol consumption, gambling – basically this is _A __VERY__ ADULT AND DARK STORY_)

****IMAGES for this fanfic **(including what characters look like, and images of the locations mentioned in the story), can be found by going here: _**http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / To%20Begin%20Again **_(remove all spaces from that URL to load it properly).

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_**TO BEGIN AGAIN**_

**By: RZZMG**

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**Chapter One: **_**Saying Goodbye **_

_**Near Donegal in Ireland**_

**Tuesday, May 2, 2000**

The air held a warm breeze, scented with heather. They buried Seamus Finnegan's broken, bloodied body in a small, shallow grave next to a large series of ancient, glacial boulders, in a field of newly budding wildflowers. Nature would do for his marker. They couldn't let the Death Eaters know they had been here.

Hermione knew that she should cry. She wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn't come. She was holding too tightly to that cold, angry fire in her gut, as Malfoy had taught her to do, and reverently maintained the silence. Instead, she glanced around at the nine weary, sad faces of her friends huddled in a tight circle around the make-shift grave, and wondered again how it had come down to this pathetic, diminishing gathering. How it always seemed to come back to _this _godforsaken moment.

No one bowed their heads. No one wanted to peek out from behind his or her own shield. Besides, this hadn't been unexpected. They'd all known it was only a matter of time for Sea.

He had been a loyal friend since their Hogwarts days, and he'd grown into a strong wizard in this war. He was the scrapper type, determined never to be broken – not even under the claws of the _Cruciatus_ curse. But being magically powerful wasn't the same as being emotionally strong, as Hermione had discovered. When Lavender Brown had been tortured, raped and murdered at the hands of an unknown sadistic servant of the Dark Lord, Sea had lost all sanity. He'd raged and he'd become unduly reckless, always volunteering for the suicide missions. His miserable, little funeral had been months overdue. At least he had served up some justice in death. Bullocks for Sea! A couple of those bastards for one of the good guys seemed more than a fair trade.

Still, it hurt. Their numbers had dangerously dwindled over the past year, and not for the first time, she wondered what the hell they were still doing here in the former U.K. Yes, her group had volunteered to stay behind to keep tabs on the enemy for the Movement, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain contact with the other factions across the world. Hell, she and her group had spent the better part of two days Apparating from place to place, just so they could make it to Sea's family's homeland to bury their friend with some dignity.

She didn't see him, but she could feel Malfoy's presence nearby. At some point she'd become attuned to his aura; he was off to the left of the gathering, and behind the circle, always on the outside. He may have been their _de facto_ leader, and the one they all looked to for guidance, but because of this, he could never truly feel close to any of them. He endured the loneliness that came with the responsibility of assigning people to their deaths.

Instinctively, she knew Malfoy was feeling a tremendous guilt for allowing Seamus to go on that last patrol. He'd never show such weakness, never give it a voice, of course, but later, he'd go off alone to cut himself up, and then to strategize – to make sure he never made such a mistake again in his planning. He'd accept no comfort or help during such times, either. She secretly suspected this was a self-inflicted punishment for the sins of his past; for all that he had been accomplice to in their Sixth and Seventh Years at school.

Hermione hurt for _him_ more than herself.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Neville stepped forward, cradling his maimed left hand to his stomach, as usual. With a flick of his good wrist, he magicked the Irish black soil to cover his best friend with a whispered, "Bye, mate."

Hermione felt her breath hitch. Would they do this for her when it was her time? Would _he_?

She turned to look back over her shoulder at Malfoy. Her eyes again followed the path of the slashing scar that crossed his pale forehead from right to left. It slanted down over the bridge of his nose and fell off abruptly. _Fucking McLaggen_, she snarled to herself in raging hate. Even after two years, Malfoy's left eye had never fully healed; his peripheral vision would never be the same. At least the scar was starting to fade, however - it was now a pinkish welt instead of a red one. The early morning sun's rays glinted in the strands of white-blond hair, turning them golden, and Hermione could not help herself: he was still _so very beautiful_. And aloof. Just looking at him made her heart ache. She wished once more that things could be different between them.

He passively turned his gaze to meet hers. Steel grey eyes stared back at her coldly, determinedly.

Yes, he would go to the ends of the earth to bury her properly. He would never fail her in death, no matter what evils life may hold for them. This she knew to be true in her very soul.

She sighed and turned back to the others. They were waiting on her now. As Malfoy's second, she was the one they looked to for guidance. It was _his_ brilliant, clever instruction that kept them ahead of the Dark Lord's minions - that kept them alert and animated. But it was _her_ mouth that conveyed the will, _her _exertion that assured their action, _her_ hands that soothed their injuries. She kept them alive. In a strange way, she and Malfoy were Mother and Father to their grim little band of insurrectionists.

"Two days reprieve," she briefed the group. "We Apparate back to our previous safe house the day after tomorrow." She turned to Blaise and Astoria. "You two - set-up detail. I want the tents up in one hour. Rain's coming this afternoon. _Cave Inimicum_, _Muffliato_, _Protego Totalum_, the works." The duo nodded simultaneously. She turned to Bradley and Dunbar next. "You two - first watch. Then, Malfoy and I, Cadwallader and Stretton, Longbottom and Clearwater, Zabini and Greengrass. Two hour rotations. Short naps in between. Everyone eats, even if you don't feel like it." She turned to the final member of the group, whom she hadn't yet assigned a task to. Adrian seemed miffed he wasn't chosen for patrol, knowing what chore remained. "Pucey, you've got meals," she informed him _firmly_, stamping out any chance for guff. He hated cooking detail, but he could whip up fantastic eats on the fly, and that was more important than his pride.

She turned back to Neville. "Walk with me."

Everyone dispersed, those with immediate chores heading off to do them, while everyone else found an inconspicuous spot to hover around, watching the horizon for trouble. Malfoy walked off behind the boulders to be alone with his thoughts. Neville fell into step beside her.

For a few dozen paces they said nothing. "Do you need to be taken off the rotation for a day?" she asked him softly.

Neville stopped walking so suddenly that she had taken two more steps before she realized he was no longer beside her. She turned back to watch him carefully. The fist of his good hand clenched around his wand, the other hanging uselessly at his side. He had tears in his eyes. _Finally_, she thought. Longbottom hadn't cried when they'd collected his best mate's body, and there hadn't been time to feel anything in the ensuing flight from the Death Eaters afterwards; those bastards had used Sea's body as bait, knowing the group would never leave one of their own behind. It had taken hours and dozens of jumps to shake the harassment and get away clear.

"I'll be fine," he choked on his words.

She scrutinized him. Neville had gone through a lot in the last few years. His gran and his girlfriend, Luna Lovegood, had been killed in the first weeks of the fighting, he'd had his hand pretty much destroyed a year later, and he'd lost some of his neurological coordination from a rather vicious blow to the head given by Thorfinn Rowle a few months ago. In the interceding time, like the rest of them, he'd buried dozens of classmates, friends and former teachers. Despite all this pain, though, Neville hadn't thrown away his life. He'd fought on, adapted. It was no wonder he'd been sorted into Gryffindor.

Hermione knew that if he could cry now, he would survive this loss as well.

She nodded, slipping back into the hard-lined authority. "You've got six hours until your shift, then. Rest up and eat."

He nodded, and she walked back to the encampment, leaving him to his grief. She glanced about the camp to assure the others were equally adjusting to their newest loss. They were shaken up; Seamus had been a core member, always strong, always fighting. But, they seemed as if they, too, would reconcile with their bereavement, given time. She gave them each solid eye contact and a nod or pat of encouragement as she passed them by. Then, she made her way outside the camp, looking for _him _again.

Malfoy was sitting on the ground, one knee up and a hand resting across it. Between his fingers, he twirled some clover. She joined him. For several long minutes, neither spoke.

"I liked you better with long hair," he murmured absently, staring out over the horizon.

Hermione fingered through her short, close-cropped hair. She'd cut it this last week, with Astoria's help. After what McLaggen had done to her last year, she'd vowed never to give a man a chance to grab her by her hair and hold her down again. "It's not ugly, and it's easier to maintain this way," she made the excuse, even though they both knew the reason for the dramatic change.

He did not immediately reply, continuing to spin the clover with his long, pale fingers. She didn't mind; she'd grown comfortable with him and the silence after the last few years. Finally, he flicked the trifolium away and sighed.

"No, it's not ugly," he conceded. "Just different."

This was the strangest conversation she'd ever had with Malfoy. Normally, they talked about tactics, supplies and morale. They didn't discuss personal things. "Why does it matter?" she hedged, curious.

His eyes narrowed in thought, and then he ran his hand through his sunlit hair and leaned his eyes against his palm, covering his face with his long fingers. She knew he wasn't crying; Draco Malfoy didn't cry. He just seemed so _defeated_ suddenly. It made her gut clench in fear. Never in all their long months together had he ever given her reason to doubt his emotional resourcefulness. But at that moment… She'd never seen him this _weak_. Had Seamus' death really affected him so?

She put her hand on his shoulder, her fingertips daring to stroke the hairs at his collar. It was more intimate a touch than they had ever shared. But then, he was showing a more intimate side of his personality than ever before, too. "Malfoy, what's really going on?" she asked softly, genuinely worried.

He grabbed her hand so swiftly that she fell back, completely disarmed by the move, shocked into insensibility. She'd forgotten about his Seeker reflexes. Malfoy was wicked fast when he needed to be. They stared in silence across the half meter separating them, each measuring the other. Finally, he let her go and rolled quickly up onto his feet. "I'm not one of the kids, Granger," he growled, referring to the others in their group with a jerk of his chin. "I don't need your comfort."

She stood, feeling the first touch of anger against him in weeks. He'd rejected her first and only attempt to reach out to him, and now he was accusing her of coddling. "What the hell is your problem?" she spit back, clenching her fists at her side, feeling queasy in her stomach from the unexpected confrontation. "Is it Seamus? Then, _talk_ to me about it. Don't play these kinds of games."

"I'm leaving," he announced suddenly, not looking her in the eye, but off into the distance.

She stepped back, swallowing painfully. "What?" she gasped, praying she'd misheard.

Malfoy sighed again. "I'm going, Granger. We needhelp. Snape's in Romania with the Weasley who tames dragons. The last message Dobby managed to sneak through said they'd been sheltering a little coven of wizard refugees near Tulcea. I'm going to find them and bring them back here. I want you to hold down things here until my return."

Hermione felt ice stab through her heart as panic set in. "You can't leave now!" she practically shouted. "We need you here, Malfoy. You're our leader."

He turned to her, a bitter smile on his handsome features. "They look to you, not to me. You've got it all under control, Granger. And we both know that you don't need me."

She stopped herself just barely from screaming the truth in his face. If he would only read her mind with his Legilimency proficiency. If only she had the courage to confess her feelings.

But she knew that there were some lines she could not cross with Malfoy, because his own stubbornness would intercede on her behalf. After all, he'd been the one to find her after McLaggen had finished with her. He'd been the one to nurse her back to health, not with kindness and compassion, but with forced antagonism, because if there was one thing Hermione Granger answered to, it was her anger. He hadn't let her feel the shame, or the weakness that should have accompanied such helplessness in the aftermath of the rape. Instead, he'd fought with her at every turn, pushed her to take care of her responsibilities to the group instead of thinking only of herself, kept her from wallowing in self-pity by forcing her preoccupation with the cause. He'd given her back her courage and resolve. If she threw herself at him now, and he didn't turn her away… If he fell in love with her back, he'd try to keep her out of the fight to protect her. He'd ship her off to America to be with Arthur and Molly's cell, or South Africa to live in one of the hidden cells there with Carl Hopkins or Thomas Paley. Or worse, he really would leave, just go away one day, all in an effort to draw the attention of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters away from her, just to keep her safe.

She knew all of this, because she knew _him_. She had fought at his side for two long years. And over those chaotic, mad days, she'd seen his real heart – the part that a man can't hide when he's facing imminent death. For all his outward detachment, Draco Malfoy had proved to be fearless and fierce, loyal and committed. She trusted him with her life.

But to be shunted off to hide, or to be left behind, all for safety's sake, would destroy her. She _would not_ be discounted! She was his second, the one who watched his back, protected _him_ as he protected the others. But she couldn't let him go out alone, knowing he might never come back either. She had to try to reach him. "We could send a message," she offered evenly.

He scoffed. "How? There are no owls, fairies, or house elves left to carry letters. None of us has a broom to fly. A _Patronus_ won't reach as far as Romania. The Muggle government and its bloody postal system are long gone in Europe, and Muggle machinery doesn't work in this part of the world anymore either; too much electrical and magnetic discharge from all of the magical energies. _You_ told me that, remember? And we can't very well Apparate to Eastern Europe; most of us have never been that far off this fucking island! You know as well as I do that you had to have actually been to a place to Apparate to it on your own."

She thought furiously. Try as she might, though, she knew he was right. The Death Eater attacks were becoming more frequent and more deadly with every passing month. They'd been doing too much running lately, sometimes hardly able to catch their breaths before jumping off to a new location. They'd also lost four good people this last year – Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Lavender Brown, and Tom the former proprietor of The Leaky Cauldron. And let's not forget last week's murder of the house elf, Dobby - the only one of his kind to give it a good fight after the defeat of Voldemort by the new Dark Lord. There were only eleven of them left now, and they were all exhausted, physically and emotionally. To make matters worse, their resources were spread too thin to continue the radical insurgent attacks on The Fortress.

_Hogwarts_, she thought forlornly of her beloved school. It had been taken by force and perverted into a place of death, terror and torture two years previously. The first big real estate casualty of the war. Now it was just called The Fortress, and it was the bastion of Lord Mort.

_Harry_, she mentally cringed in a combination of sorrow and anger.

Technically, the _thing _that was the new Dark Lord was a fusion of Voldemort and his final two Horcruxes, her former best friend and the snake Nagini. What had emerged from that unholy, unnatural union was something monstrously evil and twisted: the body of a human, but the features and skin of a snake; the lust of a mammal, but the cold-bloodedness of a reptile. She shuddered at the memories of his serpentine-slitted blue eyes leering at her across a scorched field, at the pointed fanged mouth madly grinning in feverish pleasure upon seeing her still alive, of the writhing things that crawled underneath his mottled, grayish-brown skin, seeking escape.

She recalled this last round of attacks, and Seamus' sacrifice. Malfoy was right. They were in trouble. Lord Mort was beginning to become impatient with the back-and-forth game they played. She knew he would eventually tire of it and fulfill his promise to find her soon.

Someone had to go behind enemy lines and find Snape and the others, bring them back. With their help, they might have a chance to turn this war around. And if things turned from bad to worse, at least they could make a decent last stand. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that as things stood, they were running out of options – and lives. Sending someone off to Romania was a desperate gamble they _needed_ to take.

"I'll go," she volunteered. "You stay with the others and hold them off until my return. You're a master tactician, after all."

"As are you," he countered, smirking. "I sometimes think you're more a Slytherin now than I have ever been."

She blushed and looked down at her feet, knowing his words for the compliment he'd intended.

"I have to be the one to go," he explained. "Of us all, I'm the one who's gone the farthest onto the continent. I can Apparate with a good head start."

"You mean to go to Paris," Hermione stated, remembering that he'd been taken to France after their Sixth Year by his mother, Narcissa, who'd desperately tried to help her son escape Voldemort's continued influence. She hadn't gotten too far, unfortunately. Her own husband, Lucius, had been released from Azkaban by his master for the sole purpose of tracking his family down and killing them. But, although a loyal Death Eater, Lucius hadn't been able to kill his wife and only son. In the end, Draco had been forced to _Avada_ his own father. Imagine that: his very first kill – his maestro sire. The death of her husband at her boy's own hand had driven Narcissa mad with grief. She'd turned her own wand on herself. Draco had been unable to stop her in time. In one afternoon, he'd lost his cherished family in the same city where they'd once all laughed and danced at high society parties, carefree and naïve. He'd punished himself since by tirelessly working to destroy first Voldemort, now his successor.

Malfoy nodded. "It's the best chance we've got. I can make it over land from there to Romania if I transfigure myself."

Hermione wanted to argue, but she recognized his flawless logic. "It'll be very difficult to Apparate that far. Can you do it?"

He smirked, a little of the old cock-sure Malfoy peeking through. "Of course."

"What form would you take?" she pushed. "Human?"

He shook his head. "No. There are too many check points a human has to pass to get anywhere on the roads, and crossing the back country on human feet is too dangerous, not to mention limiting. I considered a flying creature, but there aren't any birds that are naturally the size of a human. All it would take is one Death Eater to look up and we'd be dead. It has to be a mammal. Something roughly the same size as a human, with stamina, speed, and strength."

"A wolf," Hermione correctly deduced.

He nodded.

"Be careful, though," she cautioned. "Don't stay too long in that state. You'll start taking on the personality of the animal the longer you hold yourself in its shape."

He nodded again. "I know. By the way, I'm taking Greengrass with me."

Hermione felt an instant stirring of hot jealousy in her guts. "May I ask why?" she asked as placidly as possible.

"She's the fastest on her feet," he stated the obvious. "If we get caught, her speed will get her through. _Someone_ needs to get to Snape. With two going, at least one should make it."

Hermione tried to quell the green-eyed monster within, focusing on the mission parameters instead. "Can Astoria transfigure that well? She'll need to hold the shape of the wolf for at least half a day, every day."

"Will you help her?" he asked, looking over at Hermione enigmatically.

She nodded without hesitation. "Of course." He had asked it of her, so she would do it.

"I'll need you to make a Portkey for me also, so I can take it with," he instructed. "Once Astoria and I get to Romania, we can use it to transport everyone back here immediately."

Hermione organized mind puzzled over the logistics of the plan. "You're going to need some way to transport everything you'll need." She had a moment's inspiration. "I'll put together an Undetectable Extension Charm on a small bag. You can put your clothes, supplies, and the Portkey in it, and wear it around your neck as you run."

Malfoy nodded in approval.

She was afraid to ask her next question, but it was necessary. "When do you leave?"

He considered his answer. "When everyone leaves here - the day after tomorrow. It'll be a smoother transition that way."

She agreed.

Malfoy turned to look at her fully. "Granger…"

She felt her heart thud in her chest as she looked up at him. Merlin, he was handsome!

"I want you to stay low while I'm gone," he bid her adamantly. "No unnecessary engagements with the enemy. Keep your heads down, stay out of sight, and wait for me to return."

She looked him in the eye. "I'll take care of them."

"I know you will." He gave her an uncharacteristic smile then, and suddenly, Hermione was reminded of the boy she had known back in school, back when they were both unconstrained and innocent. She tentatively returned the smile on the outside, but inside, she secretly wept.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	2. Ch 2: Learning To Exist

**Chapter Two: **_**Learning To Exist**_

_**Cardiff, Britain & Barnsley, Britain**_

**Friday, July 21, 2000**

They'd been dodged relentlessly by the Death Eaters for the last two and a half months, ever since Seamus' funeral. Lord Mort had stepped up his assaults, finally intending on ending the cat and mouse game that they'd all been playing for the last several years. The thing that was Harry was coming for her, just as he promised he would. Hermione vowed she'd kill herself before he touched her.

She rubbed at her temple with one hand. The headaches were back, worse than ever. They only came in the early morning, just after the memory dreams had finally released her back into the world of the waking, and were thankfully gone by lunch, but they still hurt like a bitch in the intervening hours.

"Captain," she was interrupted by her new second, Penelope Clearwater, who'd come up behind Hermione so softly that she hadn't heard the woman moving. "We're set to jump on your go."

Crossing her arms over herself, Hermione looked over the horizon one more time, hoping for any sign of _him_, but the same disappointment she'd felt for the last 79 days once more crushed her heart.

_Where are you?_

There hadn't been a single word from either Malfoy or Greengrass, nor from any of the group hiding in Romania that the two had gone to fetch. She worried that they'd been captured or… _No_, she told herself sternly. _Don't think that._ If she believed Malfoy to be dead, she knew she would go mad.

She nodded. "Clearwater, I need to ask you something. Woman to woman."

Her second stepped up beside her. Although Penelope was four years her senior, Hermione felt like the older sister in the relationship. She turned her serious gaze on the taller woman. "If I asked you how you felt about Longbottom, what would you say?"

Clearwater's eyebrows shot down in consideration. "Smart, mentally strong, an honorable man," the girl replied curtly. She never spoke any other way, so Hermione didn't take offense with the clipped tone.

"Is it enough for you to notice him?" she pushed.

"Sexually?" Clearwater asked, getting right to the point, as she was apt to do.

Hermione nodded. The truth was that the small group's morale had dragged considerably since Sea's death, especially for Neville Longbottom. He had some good days, but recently, the bad days were growing in number. She could see the bleakness in his eyes and feared for her oldest friend. Neville was in need of a female's touch. She could read the signs, and knew it would renew him, give him purpose. She'd have sent Dunbar to him, as Fay was a Sex Witch and actually enjoyed accommodating the men in their group, but Neville was a somewhat conservative man about relations, and Hermione was sure that the idea of being with a woman who made the rounds about camp would be off-putting for him.

Clearwater thought about it. "Yes, he's rather attractive."

"Would you be adverse to the idea of a little homemade comfort for him?" Hermione asked the hard question. Clearwater was a practical person, who didn't tend to get emotionally involved with others, but this was a difficult request to make. She knew, however, that Clearwater would know that as well, and not make light of it.

"No, I rather like him," Penelope confessed.

Hermione turned back to look over the horizon, still scanning. "Do you remember the charm for birth protection and disease that I taught you?"

She saw out of the corner of her eye Penelope nod once.

"Good. I'll arrange it so you can have a bath and a private room tonight," she said. As Penelope moved away, Hermione remembered one important thing. "A soft touch, Clearwater. You're a little rough around the edges. Don't break him."

The woman barked a small laugh, and then moved off. A few more seconds scanning the skyline, and Hermione finally turned away to join the others. When they were all together, they linked arms in pairs (Clearwater had taken Neville's arm, she noticed) and they disapparated away from Cardiff, reappearing in their new location in Barnsley by twos.

As stealthily as possible, the group made their way through the deserted and hushed streets, sticking to their apparition partners and following the prearranged hand signs to indicate movements and observations. As usual, Hermione brought up the rear alone. Zabini knew where they were headed, so she trusted him on point.

After several blocks of weaving and ducking, they finally all made it into the basement of the safe house, locking and bespelling the entry to prevent discovery and against the senses. When Hermione gave the signal, everyone relaxed and sat down on whatever available flat surface they could find that would support their weight. She gave them a quick debrief of their duties, as usual, and they moved off, some to sleep and others to work. She intentionally left Clearwater and Neville off the roster for the night, and assigned everyone else showers in a few hours so they could have some time together.

She watched as Clearwater boldly took Neville's good hand and led him upstairs towards, presumably, the bath first. He followed stiffly, that bleak look still in his eyes. Hermione prayed her friend would find some measure of peace, if not happiness, in Penelope's willing arms tonight - even if the feeling was fleeting.

She walked up the stairs herself, exhausted mentally and emotionally. By the time her foot hit the top step, the others had already bespelled the upper floors against spying as well. Pucey was in the kitchen working on slicing up the last of the bread and cutting dried salami and cheese for their late supper tray. Next to him were several cans of different types of beans, two tomatoes, a small bottle of white wine vinegar, and a salt and pepper shaker set. "Mixed bean salad," he informed her when he noticed her raised eyebrow. She nodded and gave the guy a genuinely admiring smile; Pucey was all genius in the culinary arts, thank the Almighty Godric. If it had been left in her hands to provide the meals, she was sure there would have been serious grumbling from the team, as cooking was not her strong point. She rummaged through the cabinets and found some pimento olives and pickled sardines and pulled them out. Opening the cans, she drained them and sat them next to the tray. What the hell? They might as well enjoy it while they could.

She made a mental note to do a supply run tomorrow, and then sat at the long table in the center of the room and took her map out of her pouch. Opening it up, she made a quick scan to determine their next jump point. She'd give them a few days here for R&R, but then they had to move to a more permanent, fortified encampment. All the moving around was starting to get on everyone's nerves. As she considered their options, looking at the tick marks and information that had been written on the map to inform her of how often they'd visited a place and when, Blaise Zabini unexpectedly arrived at her side with a steaming cup of coffee.

"It's not fresh, but it's hot," he warned her. "Adrian's been carrying it around in that damned flask of his all day for you." He grinned at her. "I think he's sweet on you, Captain."

Hermione took the cup and looked at Blaise over the rim as she took a sip. She tried to pour all of her disinterest into that look, because she knew was Zabini was up to. He'd been Draco's best friend since they were in First Year together, and he'd seen how cut up she'd been by Malfoy's departure. He was hoping to do for her what she had just arranged for Neville.

When she'd downed the entire cup in practically one swig, she handed it back to him. "Tell Pucey I said thanks." Before Blaise could take the cup from her hand, though, she clamped down on it and held him in place. "But no thanks."

Zabini looked at her seriously and nodded. "Anything you say, Captain."

She turned back to the map and gave it her undivided attention, only obliquely aware that Blaise had not yet left. He stood looking over at what she was doing, and then stuck his finger on a spot over the Orkney Islands. "Kirkwall's far enough away and the temperature is great this time of year. My parents used to take me there when I was a kid. A last hurrah before school started in September."

She looked over at him, then back at the map.

"Population?"

Blaise considered it. "Maybe 20,000 tops. Small town, but not too small."

"Muggles?"

He nodded. "The only wizards I knew who went there were on holiday. There are no shops for our kind."

"Good," she said, knowing that fact meant there was less chance of Death Eaters needing to patrol the area.

"Not too far from the ocean, either," Zabini finished. "Might be nice to see one of those again."

They'd been jumping around the interior of the United Kingdom's islands for the better part of two years. Blaise was right; the ocean was calming and provided a good escape route in the worst case scenario.

"Supplies?"

Zabini shook his head. "Collect what we need here and take it with us. Their food sucks."

She smirked and looked back up at him. "Excellent, Zabini. I'll take it under advisement."

He nodded at her, but still did not move off.

"Was there something else?" she asked, knowing there was by his hesitation. She waited patiently for his reply, but it never came. He opened his mouth, then shut it, shook his head and walked off.

Hermione folded up her map and put it back in her pouch, then grabbed a hunk of bread from the tray Pucey put down on the table before her and sat to nibble on it, thinking, strategizing.

"Captain," Adrian interrupted her thoughts. "Just thought you should know: we're out of coffee." With that, he turned and went back into the kitchen to finish the meal prep.

She sighed, knowing the riot she'd have on her hands as soon as word of that little fact got out. It was time to hit the stores for supplies. Honestly, the thought of fresh produce and meat made her mouth water, and she knew it would be just what the doctor ordered to get everyone back into a good mood. Robbing from Death Eaters always brought a smile to her face.

Right, a-raiding they would go tonight!

**X~~~~~X**

She left Neville, Clearwater, Cadwallader, Dunbar and Bradley at the safe house, made sure everyone else had their Undetectable Extension Charmed bags on them, and they snuck out the a local shopping centre that was big enough not to notice the theft they were about to commit. With Disillusionment Charms on them, and a quick spell to trick the magically-powered security (weird rolling eyes stationed at the four corners of the market, and that disturbingly reminded her of Mad-Eye Moody's false eye), the four members of the raiding party made their way to the Budgens Supermarket first. It was a located at the end of the open aire mall. More spells guaranteed they wouldn't be seen and the items removed from the shelves wouldn't be noticed. They stocked up heavily from the warehouse section, opening boxes and tossing entire contents into their bottomless Bags of Holding. They were careful, of course, to make sure the boxes also disappeared and the manifests in the manager's office reflected non-receipt of them so the store would believe their shipments of goods simple hadn't arrived yet. Knowing Muggles, Hermione guessed there would be the typical squabble between suppliers, which would be quickly resolved with a reshipment and a write-off.

A long time ago, Hermione might have been shocked that she'd find herself in the same business as a common thief, but living on the cop, trying to care for a rag-tag, fugitive rebellion tended to change a person's ethics somewhat (Malfoy would say all beliefs were subjective anyway, she was sure). Still, she couldn't quash the tiny bit of remorse she felt at doing something dishonest, even after everything she'd been through. She gave herself the prerequisite minute of guilt, and then let it go, thinking about the lives she was saving instead. It was more important that her team be fed so they could carry on the fight than to worry about some corporate monstrosity missing a few crates of goods. Besides, these stores all served Death Eaters and their traitorous Muggle army of sycophants now, so it felt a little satisfying to tweak the nose of her enemy in such an underhanded way. She knew the managers of the store would never report the theft directly to the District High Reeve – the toady appointed for the county by the Death Eater Council directly - deciding it was better to keep their heads firmly on their shoulders and deal with their merchant brokers overseas directly instead. That was her justification and her absolution for her burglary, and she planned on sticking firmly to that determination.

Once they'd taken the food stuffs, they moved down the mall to Boots to pick up the usual toiletries – bog rolls, shampoo, soap, deodorant, combs, feminine needs, dental care items, lotions, garbage bags, razors and cream, etc., as well as Muggle chemist goods, like pain killers, medical kits, cold medicines, and antibiotics, just in case they were caught without the ability to provide healing for whatever reason (Hermione was always prepared for the eventuality that a wand might not be readily available when necessary, and had trained the others on her team to appreciate Muggle remedies as an alternative). Hermione further took the opportunity to nick some cosmetic supplies and a few different scented perfumes for her girls as a small, but important vanity for use during a moment of relaxation.

When they'd all agreed they'd gotten their share of needs and wants fulfilled, they headed back to the safe house, their vigilance never wavering, their concentrations fully heightened, despite the 'mission: accomplished' status of the raid.

As they bespelled the basement door behind them once more and made their way up the stairs, the group was in high spirits. Adrian was simply buzzing with all of the food options they now had available, and Blaise pulled out a deck of cards, a bottle of Muggle bourbon and some cigars, passing them around. The jubilancy attracted Cadwallader, Dunbar and Bradley, and the seven mates (Neville and Clearwater were still upstairs alone in the master bedroom, apparently) sat down for a few hands of poker (a game Stretton had taught them, as he was Muggle-born and his dad a high stakes card player on the Muggle circuit). They used Opal Fruit pieces as currency. Hermione passed on the cancer stick when offered one by Zabini, but joined in on the game and allowed herself a shot of the burning alcohol to soother her nerves.

By the sixth round, it was time to call it quits. Dunbar was winning by a landslide anyway (as usual), and Hermione's eyes were too heavy to keep propped up anymore. She asked for volunteers for the watch, and assigned the group as necessary, then headed upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms for some shut eye.

As she passed the master bedroom, the sound of a bed creaking rhythmically and a man and woman gasping loudly as they worked towards their shared climax was loud in the upstairs hallway. Embarrassed, Hermione hurried towards one of the spare bedrooms. She locked the door behind her, stripped out of her clothes and gave herself the rare pleasure of sliding under the cool sheets completely naked. She shut her eyes, trying to sleep, but where it had before been so pressing upon her to have a long lie down, rest now evaded her completely.

The top level of the safe house – the area where the bedrooms were located - had been magically insulated against noise from below previously. The muffling enchantments had been laid upon the house the last time they'd come here because of the ruckus that those down below tended to make when they stomped across the floor with their heavy shitkickers, or when they got into a row to blow off steam. That meant that the people downstairs couldn't hear a peep of what was happening in the room across the hall from Hermione. But she could. She heard every moan and grunt, every harsh slap of flesh on flesh, every passionate and naughty word spoken between Neville and Penelope as they urged each other on towards a mind-blowing orgasm.

Gads, they'd been at it for hours now!

As she inquisitively listened in, Hermione flushed hot all over, her mind thinking of _him_ again, her body tingling as an imaginary Malfoy whispered into her ear with his honeyed voice in the dark of night, of his breath stroking hotly against her neck, of his long, pale fingers caressing her sweat-dampened skin, and of his body plunging into hers recklessly with need…

But those were just a lovesick teenaged girl's hormonal, capricious fancies, not thoughts worthy of a grown, responsible woman almost twenty-one years old. She told herself to quit the self-flagellation immediately. Malfoy was off limits - period.

She tossed onto her tummy and pressed the pillow over her head, hoping to drown out the noises of what sounded to be really fantastic sex in the next room, to no avail. Thankfully, the marathon session was reaching its culmination, however - a wooden headboard smacked with force into the wall once, twice, three times and then stopped and the squeaking bed frame stilled. Neville's shout of pleasure and Penelope's answering cry echoed in her head even after blissful silence reigned finally.

Hermione knew she'd done the right thing by her friend by sending her Second to him tonight. Maybe the two of them would develop a tighter friendship over time from this - one with "benefits." Who could ever say? In this war-torn world, nothing a person did to cling onto their humanity was seen as taboo. In any case, tonight's fuck-fest would definitely go a long way towards repairing the damage in Neville's weary heart. That alone was worth a little loss of sleep.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	3. Ch 3: Home Is Where The Heart Lies

**Chapter Three: **_**Home Is Where The Heart Lies**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Sunday, August 27, 2000**

One hundred and sixteen days. Almost four months. And not a peep from the Romanian cell, Malfoy or Greengrass. Hermione despaired in the shelter of her heart. Had something happened to them?

_Please, Almighty Makers, no._

She might have been overreacting. After all, sixteen weeks to cross 2,200 kilometers on foot, having to stop at nights and to avoid human settlements as much as possible, even with the speed of a wolf, was stretching it thin. Malfoy and Astoria could only cover approximately 15-25 kilometers a day at the maximum, so it would have taken them at least three months just to get near their target. And then there was the problem of actually finding Snape's cell, which moved around more often than her own. And of course, if they'd run into Death Eater problems along the way, that could have slowed them down even further.

Or, perhaps Malfoy and the others were already here in the U.K. and were just having trouble finding them now that her group had moved off the main island to a smaller surrounding chain to the northeast? Did the tracking spell she'd put on her small, medal Hogwarts Prefects Badge (which she'd given to Malfoy before he left to be sure he'd find them after the Portkey brought them down exactly in the same spot in Ireland where they'd left Seamus' body) even work over water surfaces? She wasn't sure. Maybe they were looking for her and her group even now. That could take several weeks, surely, as she'd covered their tracks well from jump points.

She prayed the dreams would not come to her tonight. Perhaps she'd finally give in and ask Penelope for a philter so she could get some deep, dreamless sleep finally. Merlin knew she could definitely use it. Her nerves were beginning to fray.

"Captain, dinner's ready," Cadwallader informed her. With an internal sigh, she looked out over the horizon one last time before turning and joining her team – _family_, she corrected – inside the main tent for the day's final meal. As she entered the large, comfortable space that was their temporary home for the next few months at least (or until it became a security risk, whichever came first), the familiar smell of cooking fish lightly buttered and sprinkled with lemon pacified her and brought her hunger roaring forward in an instant.

The gang was, as usual, efficiently moving about to and fro across the wide interior space, helping to prepare for the meal – setting the table up, assuring the cook had all he needed, and someone even went so far as to lower the lantern's shutters to create a gentle, soothing ambiance. Everyone felt secure enough in their current location to engage in such frivolity as joking, laughing, and toasting with glasses filled with white wine as the spells placed outside were strong enough to alert them of any incoming, bipedal traffic from a good distance away and there had been absolutely no indication of Death Eater activity this far north ever.

Hermione approached the chef. "All well in hand?" she asked, marveled by Adrian's "groove" in the kitchen. The guy could multitask amazingly.

He nodded. "Almost done. Go sit and have some wine from Zabini's haul."

She clapped Pucey on the shoulder and they shared a grin. While they'd all been collecting food back in Barnsley, Blaise had emptied out several crates of liquor. Typical.

She made her way back towards the others, still awed by the change in Adrian Pucey over the last few weeks. Despite hating being taken off more "warrior-like" duties for something as "menial" as cooking detail, he'd still put his heart into his work and made the job of _Chef Extraordinaire_ all his. He worked up the daily menus and took constant inventory of their food stuffs, making an appointment once a week to discuss the specifics of their food rationing with Hermione so she'd know exactly what their situation was (and for which she was _incredibly_ grateful). He'd even made it a habit to incorporate delights from the plentiful, vast ocean before them into their daily menu so that nutritionally, they'd all get a little dose of "lean, healthy heart" meat. The light piscine diet was actually a welcome break from the excessive lard, salt and processed junk they'd been forced to consume for most of the time they'd been relegated to the interior of the country.

So far, Adrian had prepared kippers and mackerel, sea trout, steamed mussels and clams, and tonight they were to dine on lobster with mashed cheddar potatoes and green beans (the only part of the meal from the can). Everyone was salivating. Hermione tipped herself a glass of wine and joined in the festivities. When Adrian presented the meal to the table, there was applause, followed quickly by the sounds of hastily cracked hard shell. The conversation around the table flowed smoothly, with laughter punctuating the air often. Down the table, Neville was helping Penelope – his fiancée now – to extricate some hot, cooked meat from a claw, his maimed hand starting to get some motion and shape back finally (Penelope had been working with him on it in a manner similar to Muggle physical therapy). The smiles they exchanged were beautiful, and the once lingering sadness that had taken root in her friend's soul was finally washed nearly away.

Thinking of Neville's happiness inevitably brought Hermione back to darker thoughts about her state of her decided _un_happiness. She decided not to linger there, however, for fear of it spoiling the atmosphere. She turned to Adrian with a loud congratulatory toast for having outdone himself yet again, which everyone shared with a hearty "hear hear" and a clinking of glasses.

"You think the meal was good, wait for the next part," Pucey announced a little arrogantly and hopped up to get the dessert course. As he presented it to the table, laid out on a flat metal baking sheet, Hermione's heart was stolen away: warm choc-chip biscuits. She hadn't tasted chocolate in over two years! Freshly brewed, strong Euro-style coffee with real cream (not that nasty powdered shite) accompanied the treat. She nearly wept with joy.

After indulging in the culinary delights of the evening, everyone cleared and scourgified the dishes and started breaking up into groups, based upon duty detail. Stretton and Bradley took first watch, the two former Ravenclaws leaving the tent together talking about Legilimency (Stretton was well versed in the art from his witch mother, whereas Bradley had no training whatsoever, but was eager to learn), Neville and Penelope scampered away (presumably to his tent for a discreet tête-à-tête), and Blaise, Fay and Philip engaged in a three man poker game (both men intent upon wiping the floor with Dunbar, despite the fact she hadn't lost a hand in months). Hermione approached Adrian again with another sincere congratulation. "It was _wonderful_," she complimented, pressing a hand to his arm and giving him a brilliant smile. "Thank you so much." A little bit of the old, relaxed, happier Hermione Granger came out then; she felt it and let it happen.

Adrian glowed under her praise, and caught up in the moment, he quickly ducked his head down and broke decorum, giving her a small peck on the cheek. She blushed, taken aback, and then covered fast with another pat (this time on his shoulder), more congratulatory words and then backed off. As she turned to retreat from the tent, she caught Blaise's knowing smirk beaming at her. He raised his coffee mug in salute and she ignored him and quickly strode away, seeking the solitude of her own tent, telling herself over and over that the last thing she needed at that moment was a man's interest.

**X~~~~~X**

It was sometime before midnight when the long-distance perimeter alarms blared through the night loudly, sounding like the echoing screech of a bird of prey, waking her instantly. Hermione jumped up and quickly changed clothes, grabbed for her wand and her Bag of Holding (gripping the former in her hand, thrusting the latter into a pocket in her woolen wizard robes), and rushed out, running a hand through her hair to pat the sticky-uppy ends down.

Zabini was the closest when she emerged. They walked hurriedly side by side towards where Penelope was squatting down in the distance, watching the dark horizon intently. "You send anyone out while I wasn't looking?" she asked in a low tone, stepping in shoulder-to-shoulder, not wanting to put the others on edge more than they probably already were. Blaise shook his head, his face grim.

An intruder then.

"Longbottom, Pucey, Cadwallader – start packing up," she instructed in a loud enough voice to be heard by the gathering group behind and beside them. It was important to get those three out of the way of the fighting, as their individual expertise wasn't in dueling (Neville was an expert in Herbology and Magical Creatures, Pucey was not just a chef but a linguist, reader of ancient runes and a musician, and Cadwallader was a poisons expert), and they'd either become cannon fodder or hostages too quickly.

When the three moved off, she turned to the rest of them. "I want a staggered, wide "W" formation, at least three meters separation. If they come in casting, it'll give them too many spread targets to try to focus on. I'll take point. Dunbar, stay to the back."

Fay Dunbar may have been good at disfiguring and painful hexes (a specialty to keep roving hands off), but that was the extent of her combat prowess. She was a lover, literally, not a fighter, so she stayed away from the front lines. The young woman didn't lack for bravery though having singlehandedly fought her way to freedom from The Madam's House last year to seek out help for those still trapped on the inside. Having been a literal sex slave to the Death Eaters, sold to them under the Madam herself – Phaedra Parkinson and her traitorous, slag daughter, Pansy – Fay knew all too well the evils they faced on a daily basis and didn't ever flinch from her duty. The fact that she also gave the men in their small group some much needed "relief" (in a discreet way) served everyone's purposes. It was true (if not a little repellent) that with Fay "taking the edge" off for the boys, it helped keep the camp from erupting into testosterone-laden violence on a regular basis. And Fay didn't seem to mind; she actually enjoyed having multiple partners, refusing outright to settle for any one man (although Ernie Macmillan _had_ been seriously attempting to court her for a few weeks before his death). But in a head-on fight, she was almost a liability, so it was better to keep her off the grid as much as possible.

Hermione turned to Bradley next, the group's "tank" now that Seamus was gone. Strong in offensive hexes and curses, bulky in body and liking to fight, and with a courage to have landed him in Gryffindor if he hadn't wanted Ravenclaw so badly (he was a descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw and took immense pride in that fact), Willem was their undeniable powerhouse. "You're on my right, big guy." He simply nodded, expecting the order.

She turned to Bradley's best mate, the leanly muscled Jeremy Stretton, next. "Take a look for us." Without a word, their Scout hurried off at a slinking crouch with a speed and dexterity she'd never seen before in any other, even Malfoy. For a guy who'd been his House's Chaser in Quidditch, not the Seeker, he was the sneakiest S.O.B. she'd ever met. Silent as a cat, with acute senses and an almost eidetic memory for visual and audio cues, Jeremy was what Professor Flitwick might have called "solution-oriented." Meaning, he thought his way around problems quickly and efficiently. If you needed quick intel on a situation, Jeremy was the man. He also had no problems killing someone from behind. There were times Hermione wondered if he hadn't been sorted into the wrong House in school, as Slytherin seemed more his style. Still, Malfoy trusted him, so she would. Thank Merlin he was on their side, though.

Everyone crouched down so as to make themselves less of a target and waited for Stretton to return.

Across the meters between them, Hermione turned her head and gave Blaise a silent cue with her eyes that he accepted with a simple nod. He stayed where he was off to her left, as she'd wanted. Zabini was a powerful curse specialist, able to use Legilimency even in the heat of battle to throw off opponents. Inciting that kind of confusion amongst the enemy's ranks was a trick of his they'd employed more than a few times to escape a death trap, and she wanted that option available for whoever was coming within range.

Behind and to her right, she spied Clearwater out of her peripheral vision, the woman's wand raised, her severe face pinched as she narrowed her eyes, trying to see into the darkness. Her visual acuity was almost as good as Jeremy's, which is why she tended to be an alternate Scout, when the need arose. That she was the type who would do what needed to be done no matter the cost to herself made her one of the most loyal of her teammates and one whom she could count on to hold the line when a retreat was necessary. She was, by no mean feat, wicked with curses as well. That scumbag, Augustus Rookwood had learned the woman's skill first hand when he'd taken her on, only to die from his nerves literally frying under her wand from the Cruciatus Curse she'd hit him with.

The minutes ticked by, and Hermione could feel the beads of nervous perspiration dewing on her upper lip. She made no move to wipe, however, staying perfectly still so as to not blow their cover with any sudden actions. She tuned every sense forward, hoping to catch a hint of what was coming.

Pretty much simultaneously, she and Blaise tensed up as someone sauntered into view. It was Stretton. "Cancel 'Red Alert,'" he joked, having come from a half-blood background that fully embraced all things Muggle, and was familiar with famous television catch phrases as a result. "Boy, are you going to be surprised. Lucy, they're home!" He was smirking openly, his white teeth gleaming even in the dim moonlight.

From behind him, a large group of people were moving in on their location. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, knowing instinctively who they were by Jeremy's teasing ways, and on shaky legs, she stood to greet her newest recruits.

Her first sight was of Professor – _just Severus, now_, she reminded herself – Snape. He was walking swiftly, as was his typical fashion, which caused his robes to billow out behind him like a dark nightmare. The rest of his group tried to keep up, but his long legs allowed him to pull ahead to her several seconds before the others could catch up.

"Miss Granger," he greeted, polite despite the obvious frown of displeasure on his face. "So good of you to provide a Portkey and a tracking spell for us." Here, the look became extremely stern, and for a moment, she was transported back to her First Year at Hogwarts, sitting in his Potions Class as he berated the students over and over again for a job poorly done. "Did it ever occur to you, however, that those types of spells are extremely poor divining rods over water?"

Shoot, she knew it. Well, her suspicions were confirmed, anyway. Still, it wouldn't do to rise to the bait Snape had put down, because apparently, he needed reminding that she wasn't one of his quivering students any longer. Plastering an amused smile on her face, she replied as pleasantly as possible. "Hello, Severus. It's nice to see you, too."

The rest of the Romanian cell's refugees had caught up to their leader by then and there were some snickers drawn from her response, but they quickly died off as Hermione looked around him to see who was left of his team. From Hogwarts, she acknowledged Charlie Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Megan Jones, Anthony Rickett, Jason Swann, Oliver Wood, Kenny Markham. There were three men and two women she didn't recognize, however, but their burgundy and black robes identified them as former Durmstrang students (the men only; the two foreign women wore standard black robes with no color striping or lining to help in guessing their backgrounds), and… good Godric, was that...? It was!

"Viktor?" she called out in complete shock, stepping around Snape entirely.

Pushing to the front of the group, Viktor Krum swept down and lifted her in his arms without any effort whatsoever, twirling her around with a joyful laugh. Hermione was too shocked to know how to react, and was utterly stupefied until the moment he put her back on her feet. "Hello, Hermy-own-ninny," he greeted her enthusiastically, his once thick accent now greatly lessened – probably from being around so many Hogwarts folk for so long. "My heart smiles to see you again."

She could only blink up at her former boyfriend - had he even been that? They'd never formally agreed upon an official title for their time together – her tongue twisted into knots.

"Fun though this reunion has been, we shouldn't all be out in the open like this," Snape reminded her, and in a flash, Hermione's senses returned.

"Of course," she acknowledged, all business. She turned to Blaise first. "Zabini, show our guests to the main tent and get some extra chairs out for them." She turned to Willem. "Run ahead and tell the others to expect company, and see if Pucey could whip up something hot for fifteen mouths fast. And lots of tea and coffee. I'm sure our fellow insurrectionists are hungry. Tell him there's a month's off rotation with his name on it if he can pull it off in less than half an hour." Jeremy was next. "Reset those perimeter wards. I want them back in place in ten. And scan for trouble before coming back – sky included." Finally, she addressed Penelope. "You and Neville are in charge of adjusting the sleeping arrangements until something more permanent can go up. Get it done yesterday."

"Yes, Captain," Clearwater spoke in a strong, loud voice, letting everyone know her deference to Hermione's status purposefully. In too many ways, they were all becoming very Slytherin-like, she noted,g as the older woman jogged off to find her fiancée.

As Blaise was directing the rest of the pack towards the main pavilion, she turned back to Severus, who had stayed by her side a moment longer, measuring her carefully with his black gaze. "Admirable," he complimented with a slight twist to his lips and took his leave of her to follow the others.

It was then that she turned completely around, feeling _his_ presence still lingering.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat when their eyes connected. Despite the exhaustion on his face, and the fact that he was leaner, rangier looking and his windblown hair had grown by an inch or two, Draco Malfoy was still the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes upon.

"Welcome home," she murmured, and she was sure he could hear her heart pounding under her ribcage even in the meter or so between them. She tried to keep herself calm, bit back the fierce urge to throw herself into his arms and hug him, trying to remain carefully neutral.

"Thanks," he stated in an even, emotionless voice. Without another word, he stepped past her and followed the others into the light.

Hermione felt her knees attempt to give out, but she stubbornly set them at the last second, keeping herself from slumping to the ground.

Maybe Malfoy had just been tired and frustrated from having to track them all over the British Isles? Perhaps that accounted for the anger she saw simmering in his darkened grey eyes and for the unnecessary roughness in his touch as he'd brushed her arm with his in moving past her. Because the incensed look he'd cast her couldn't have had anything to do with her encounter with Viktor Krum. Surely not.

**X~~~~~X**

"The Golden Child" Pucey had come through once more and in record time, taking leftovers from the night's lobster dinner, as well as some cut-up and scaled salted white fish and some fresh clams (which he dug up magically on the fly down at the beach) and some pickled cabbage and carrots and throwing it all into a big pot of seafood stew, using the water that the lobsters boiled in earlier as a stock. Using his wand, he cheated and quick baked a few loaves of bread, slathering butter on them and sprinkling powdered garlic on top, toasting them to a golden brown. For dessert, he took the remaining dozen or so chip biscuits and cut them in halvsies to stretch them out. Hot tea and coffee were liberally passed around, as were a few bottles of Blaise's champagne. The newcomers all dug in with hearty sighs of contentment, commenting that this had been their first hot meal in over a week, since they'd left Tulcea and ported over to Ireland.

Unsure how to handle the whole Malfoy incident, Hermione excused herself to help Penelope and Neville in their task, promising to return in half an hour. As she exited the tent, she felt several pairs of eyes upon her, but wasn't sure whom they all belonged to.

She ran into Neville first as he was coming out of the tent Bradley shared with Pucey and Stretton. "What's the situation?" she asked abruptly, tired and a bit cranky, but knowing that the night was far from over for her. Snape would want to debrief her a bit before turning in.

"We've got fifteen blankets, twelve pillows and eleven cots – enough for our team only," he told her a little abashed. "Penelope thinks she can transfigure the rest easily enough. The problem is tents." He looked over his shoulder. "We've got yours, Fay and Astoria's, Penelope and mine, the boys', and Zabini and Malfoy's, plus the main tent. We'll have to share. It'll be a little tight until we can transfigure some more and put the Undetectable Extensions Charms on them."

She sighed, really too tired to do that kind of work tonight. She was also sure from having looked at the faces of the refugees that they were equally as exhausted and would probably be conking out soon after eating. On a time budget, she made an executive decision. "Okay, move people around as you see fit. Just for tonight, let's keep the genders separate. You can have Penelope back tomorrow." She grinned at him, and Neville blushed but nodded. He set off to start the moving of cots and supplies, and Hermione joined Clearwater in the tent she shared with Longbottom. The woman was already transfiguring new blankets, pillows and cots from a variety of clothes and other assorted goodies found within her Bag of Holding. Hermione joined her, and together, they managed to get it all done in a little under half an hour.

Leaving a final order for her and Neville to be sure to cast warming spells in each of the tents to make doubly sure everyone would be comfortable, she returned to the main pavilion.

One look and she knew she'd been right; the Romanian team members were on their last legs. She directed them out the door to Neville to find their cots for the night. Viktor, Malfoy, Charlie and Snape stayed behind. She helped Pucey clean up the dishes and put the food away as Snape began to debrief her on the situation in Continental Europe as he knew it from his contacts.

"The Death Eaters there have fallen into petty territorial squabbling," her former Professor informed her. "The bid to grab power has started right under Lord Mort's nose."

"I'm surprised he hasn't stepped in and squashed that," she commented, waving her wand over a dish and _Scourgify-ing_ it spotless. She handed it to Adrian, who put it away in a rack which he stored inside a Bag of Holding.

Snape snorted in disgust. "He's preoccupied at the moment trying to keep Britain from erupting into all-out civil disobedience against the Death Eater Council and their toady governors, and simultaneously looking for you, his lady love."

The room was suddenly dead silent and no one moved. Hermione almost dropped the plate she'd been holding, feeling her stomach clench up in a tight fist that nearly knocked the breath from her. She shook her head adamantly. "No, Harry and I never had any kind of a romantic thing. He was only ever a brother to me."

"On your side of the aisle maybe," Charlie interjected. "But who knows what Harry thought in his heart."

Her anger came fast and vicious. "Don't you dare talk like that!" Her voice was shrill, her breath came faster, and she pinned Charlie down with the fury blazing behind her dark cinnamon eyes. "You above most others know that Harry was a decent boy. And he loved Ginny!"

"Then why'd he kill Ron?" he challenged, undeterred by her rage. "The first thing he did when he became Lord Mort was kill my brother. I think it's because he knew you liked Ron. He wanted the competition out of the way."

Her temper hit the roof. She nearly let fly with a scathing, blistering retort when Viktor interrupted in his broken English, his tone attempting to sooth. "Hermy-own-ninny, do you have new idea in your smart brain? I think you do. I know that look vell."

Just like that, her anger slipped away, replaced with embarrassment. She turned to hand Adrian – who'd remained quiet this whole time - the plate, and picked up the next one, waving her wand over it.

"Actually, I've thought about it a lot, and I think I finally do know the reason," she admitted, hiding behind facts to cover for her emotional ineptness. "Look, we all know the Dark Lord isn't really dead, right? His _physical_ body was destroyed two years ago, but his _spirit_ got trapped inside the same body as Harry's - along with the spirit of that snake of his, Nagini. That melding of the three personalities became Lord Mort." She kept working on cleaning up the dishes and utensils and glasses, talking as she moved, grinding away at the data in her head. "But what if… _what if _Harry's really not completely sublimated by Voldemort and Nagini's personalities? What if Lord Mort isn't 'complete' because Harry's personality is still very much aware and is fighting back?" She turned to look at them all, lingering a moment on Malfoy, who was contemplating her words carefully. "I know Harry, and if there was even a chance he could have fought back against Voldemort's possession of him, he would. He'd never give up." Here she looked down at the plate in her hands, not really seeing it, instead seeing her wavering, dim reflection in its white ceramic surface. "But it's been two years. That's a long time to fight against two strong anti-personalities – _especially_ if they keep tormenting you with the idea that you were responsible for killing one of your own best friends."

"_Holy shite!_" Charlie exclaimed, sitting up, his eyes widened to the new possibility. "It makes sense. It could also explain why he hasn't really moved on you over the last two years, despite vowing he would."

Hermione nodded. "It further accounts for why the Death Eaters have been able to run so rampant with power for too long, and why there is talk of open war with their master. Up until recently, I think Lord Mort's been an absentee ruler, so to speak. That he's been so busy struggling within himself – struggling to keep Harry back - that he could only occasionally take time away to play dictator." She cleared her throat nervously. "I also think that Voldemort is winning now. Something changed to tip the scales in his favor over the last few months, although I don't know what that change was. But I bet it's why Lord Mort has renewed his vow to kill me and has begun to seriously look for me now. He knows that if I'm killed – especially at his own hand - it will weaken Harry… maybe even to the point where he'll completely give up fighting. Voldemort would win possession of the body then."

Everyone was silent again, contemplating what she'd just said.

It was Snape who shattered the ice this time. "An interesting theory, but only just that," he pointed out bleakly. "Do you have any proof?"

Hermione swallowed. It was time to fess up. "I… I've been having… dreams. For the past few months. They've gotten worse recently." She stared at the floor, flustered. "Harry's in all of them. And they don't really feel like dreams. More like Legilimency - the same pressure behind my eyes, the same headaches when I wake up." She refused to look at Malfoy, afraid she'd seen anger again. Instead, she looked down at the plate, letting it hold her attention.

Snape's spine straightened and he drew to immediate attention. "Describe the dreams."

She handed the last dish over to Adrian and came to sit on the bench next to Charlie, facing the other men. Clasping her hands in front of her on the table, she tried to quell the shaking in her limbs. "They always start out the same – my first day on the Hogwarts Express, when I was introduced to Ron and Harry. Our first conversation plays out in its entirety. I'm watching it all - not from my own eyes, though, but from a seated position across from Harry, where I have the entire view of the car and the three of us. There's an… innocence to that moment; I can feel it poignantly, and it makes me want to cry. Somehow I know that this is not my feeling, but Harry's. When I look across the aisle, he's watching Ron and me intently." She swallowed, wishing she'd had a cup of coffee right then to help warm the back of her throat. "There's a blurring at that point, and I can feel my memories tugged around. From then on, the dream always changes, jumping from one memory to another. They're always of Ron, Harry and I, never any of my interactions with anyone else in my life. And, I'm always sad after viewing each memory. But it's that same detached sadness – as if it didn't belong to me but to someone else."

She sighed and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I'm not sure if I'm making any sense, but I just… I _know_ that it's Harry in my head. That's what makes me think that maybe he's not exactly 'dead' in Lord Mort's body after all."

"Does Potter ever talk to you directly in these visions?" Snape asked, his voice strangely soft and considering.

She shook her head and dropped her hands. "Never. But, even thought I can't explain it, I just _know_ it's him." She held a hand up to Severus. "And before you say it, I know that Harry never was very good at Occlumency, and he never learned Legilimency formally. I can only account for his abilities as being somehow 'borrowed' from Voldemort's consciousness." She wet her lips and cleared her throat behind her hand. "I think… no, I'm almost positive that Harry's poking through my memories when I'm asleep because that's the easiest time to get at me. My mental defenses are down, so it wouldn't require a lot of magical effort to break into my head." She locked gazes with Snape. "And I think he's doing it because he needs something to hold onto. He knows he's weakening. He's close to losing."

Everyone was quiet as they absorbed all she'd said, her conviction in the rightness of the information. The only sound in the domed, fabric room was Adrian's shifting in the background, as he prepared to leave the main tent for the night, having finished up kitchen detail completely.

Snape stood, pushing back from the table. "It's late, and you look exhausted, Miss Granger. Now might be a good time to adjourn." He adjusted the sleeves on his robes, not looking at her, and she knew from past experience that he was feigning disinterest. There was a glimmer in Severus Snape's liquid black eyes that made her wonder, just for a moment, if he hadn't taken up his previous role as a double-agent…

She rose to head off to bed, thinking she wanted nothing more than to sink her head down on her pillow at that moment and escape to the blessed darkness. The men at the table all stood in the old fashioned ways in automatic response and she couldn't help but smirk in amusement. "Neville will show you to your cots, gentlemen. He's in the second tent down. Good night."

She had to pass Malfoy on the way out, and she could feel his heated stare as she kept walking, refusing to look at him. Whatever his problem was, she was too tired to wrestle with him at that exact moment. Tomorrow, she'd corner him and demand an explanation for his rudeness.

Unzipping and untying the large tent's opening, Hermione pressed in, shutting everything up after her. On cots in her sleeping area were Megan Jones, Astoria Greengrass, and Fay Dunbar. That meant that Clearwater and the two unknown Durmstrang women were in the tent she normally shared with Neville, and the men shared the remaining three tents, at four and five a piece. It would be uncomfortable for the guys, but it was only for one night.

With only enough mind to remove her robes and shoes, Hermione threw herself down on her cot, snuggled under her blanket and was out cold in less than half a minute.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	4. Ch 4: Unexpected Changes

**Chapter Four: **_**Unexpected Changes**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Thursday, August 31, 2000**

Hermione awoke feeling refreshed for the first time in months. After having solved the problem of a lack of tents, cots, blankets and pillows, the entire group put their heads – and magic – together and transfigured some new equipment to house and care for the new members of their family. It had taken two days in between all of the other chores (extra food preparations, changing the main tent to accommodate all eighteen of them at a sit-down meal, filling everyone in on what they'd been up to in the intervening months since Dobby had died and all communications with the Romanian cell had ended, assigning tasks, keeping watch, etc.), but Hermione finally had her tent all to herself once more. Bliss!

Unfortunately, her good mood was abruptly sapped away by Fay, who'd been nudging her shoulder gently. "Captain," the beautiful brunette whispered. "Wake up, there's a problem."

Instantly, Hermione's eyes snapped open and she sat up. Fay put a shushing hand over her mouth and indicated that she needed to follow her outside. Changing into her day clothes and tying her hair back into a ponytail, Hermione followed the Sex-Witch towards the beach. There, she found Astoria Greengrass kneeling behind some driftwood, puking her guts out.

"She's been doing it for the last three days," Fay told her. "I've been keeping an eye on her. She looked really pale when she got back into camp on Sunday night." Dunbar turned a serious eye on Hermione. "Captain, I don't think this is flu or food poisoning."

Hermione's mind went blank for a moment. Then what Dunbar said hit her like a hammer between the eyes.

"She's got all the signs of being pregnant," Fay pursued her observations relentlessly. "She gets sick easily over certain smells, she gets tired easily, she's vomiting, and she's fainted once all ready - thankfully in the tent she and I share, so no one else saw."

_I will not assume anything_, Hermione promised herself, feeling eels slide around in her stomach, threatening to make her as ill as Greengrass. _I will not._

She knelt by Astoria, holding the younger girl's honey-blonde hair – which had grown out down her back in the intervening months since she'd been gone - in case she needed to vomit again. Fortunately, it seemed that her retching had stopped. Unfortunately, her hysterical tears began. She grabbed onto Hermione, sobbing as if her whole world was crumbling. Which it was. If she was definitely pregnant, Astoria would have to leave the camp for a safer cell. The one in Britain was the hottest zone, and there was no way Greengrass would be able to weather out a pregnancy with them.

"Astoria," she murmured, trying to sound as motherly and comforting as possible. "I need to know the truth. Are you pregnant?" When the girl nodded her head miserably, Hermione felt her own world decay around her. "Who's… the father?"

The younger witch didn't say anything for the longest time; just laid into Hermione's breast like a long, lost child, crying. When her tears were done, she sniffled and finally revealed all. "It's different being a wolf," she began, almost dreamily, sounding a lot like Luna Lovegood in that moment. "Their communication is beautiful. You can't hide anything from yourself or other wolves. You are all aware of each other in a way you'd never have imagined before. Every sense open, every movement meaningful."

Hermione's heart began to break wide open, knowing what Astoria was leading up to. _Don't tell me this. I don't want to know anymore. _She held it together only by the merest thread, knowing that if she broke down now, she might not recover.

"When you change back into your own skin, you can feel the emptiness," Greengrass continued. "It's because humans don't have a pack. We live alone in our heads." She inhaled sharply as if talking about it was somehow painful, but on the exhale, she continued her round-about narrative. "The need to be together… it was impossible to ignore. I couldn't stop wanting him. He's an alpha."

Hermione's teeth clanked together stiffly. _Shut up... Just, please, say no more!_

"When we realized what was happening, we tried to stay away from each other. He even left for several days, but…" She let out a choked sob. "He knew he couldn't leave me behind. We were pack. And I wouldn't have known what to do without him, either. We had to finally stop traveling as wolves because it became too intense. We transfigured our faces and hair and traveled normally instead. We told all of the checkpoint guards that we were married, and they monitored us as we moved around. _Everything_ is watched by the Death Eaters and their collaborators on the continent!" She pulled out of Hermione's arms, rubbing the back of her hand against her nose. "We were staying all the time in those tiny hotel rooms together, and were forced to keep up our cover story by pretending we really were married and in love. And after knowing each other so intimately in our heads as wolves, _it_ just happened."

_I want to die, _Hermione agonized.

"You and Malfoy," she forced herself to state the obvious, her voice as dead and flat as her soul had suddenly become. "You had sex."

Astoria nodded. "I'm so sorry," she apologized achingly, putting her arms around herself protectively. "I know how you feel about him, Captain. I'm so, _so _sorry!"

At this, Hermione's head snapped to attention. "What?" The horror in her voice at having her greatest secret found out made the truth all the more evident.

"It's rather obvious, Hermione," Fay admitted, using her given name for the first time since she'd joined the group early last year. "But only to those who know what they're looking at."

She swallowed, scared as hell, angry as hell, confused as hell all of the sudden.

_Focus._

First things first, what to do about Astoria?

"How long ago?" she asked, almost afraid to know.

"The beginning of July," Astoria admitted.

Two months. Damn it. The girl was too far into the pregnancy to do anything now, even were they, by some miracle, able to find someone to sell them a potion that would undo the damage in time. That meant there was only one choice left now. "You can't stay with us, Astoria," Hermione laid the bad news out honestly. "The Apparitions we do to constantly stay ahead of the enemy would kill the baby, and maybe even you. You're going to have to America. The war hasn't spilled over there yet. You'll be safe if you can make it to the cell in California."

Astoria began bawling again and she hung her head, hiding her face behind her hands in shame and embarrassment and fear. Hermione's mind was too preoccupied to give Greengrass the sympathetic attention she required, however, as she was consumed suddenly with the priority of getting Astoria to safety. Instead, Fay nursed the crying girl in her place, hugging her petite roommate and cooing soft words to her, while Hermione poured over the facts, hunting out the plan…

To their fortune, the United States of America didn't have an issue with Death Eaters and their fascist cronies directly rearranging its citizens' lives. Early in the war, their Muggle President had made a fat deal with the Devil of Death (Lord Mort's nickname) to pay in goods and services to avoid having detrimental outside interference in their government (the alternative was global nuclear fallout, which Lord Mort was smart enough not to tangle with, for all his power). Hence the shipments coming into Britain and Europe to keep the shelves of their stores stocked up were a form of tribute paid by the Yanks for their continued, relative freedoms (other concessions included mandatory registration and tracking of all wizards and witches in country, career "reorientation" so American citizens would only perform jobs necessary to keep their infrastructure in place and to further the supply of the country's bribe to Lord Mort, and a permanent ban on their First Amendment Rights to Free Speech insofar as it concerned any negative commentary on the Death Eaters and their leader). Despite its repressive concessions, many witches and wizards had willingly fled to "The New World" once the war had broken out, seeking solace from combat. The remaining living Weasleys (Charlie the exception, as he'd stayed in Europe to fight) ran a cell out of San Francisco to smuggle refugees in and fly them under the radar so they could avoid government detection. They helped wizards and witches establish new identities, get health care, and educated them in integrating into Muggle society so they wouldn't be found out. She'd heard they'd even established their own smaller version of Diagon Alley, called The Golden Faire, out of Chinatown's back passages with the help of some enterprising Triad Mafioso.

It was truly the safest place in the world right now for their kind, and in the hands of her one-time red-headed family, she knew Astoria and her baby – _Malfoy's child_ - would be cared and looked out for.

The first problem to tackle would be mode of travel. Because Greengrass couldn't Apparate, and sitting on a broom all the way across the Atlantic Ocean was impractical and dangerous, she would have to travel by boat to either New York or Boston, the only two piers on the North American continent that were allowed to traffic ships coming from and going to Europe. The trip would take at least ten to fourteen days, depending upon the speed of the craft. From there, she could take a coast-to-coast train or bus ride (as domestic flight airplanes were too heavily monitored in America to risk). That would tack on an additional three to seven days, depending again upon stops and speed. In all, Astoria could be safely in Arthur and Molly Weasley's hands within three to four weeks.

The second problem was a little more painful for Hermione to consider. Astoria would need an escort, and it would have to be someone capable, tough and magically-skilled. She sighed, thinking of several candidates from her team right off the bat, and not liking having to give any of them up. She intended on offering the volunteer who took Astoria to her destination the chance to stay permanently in America, so the likelihood of that person returning was pretty much zilch. Two capable fighters would be taken off the lines for good, and in the current situation, that was bound to hurt their movement, even with Snape's new recruits.

"I don't want anyone else to know," Astoria begged, grabbing onto Hermione's sleeves and knocking her out of her deliberation. "Please don't tell them. I don't want Malfoy's reputation to be ruined by this. It was _my_ fault."

Fay snorted. "It takes two to Tango, honey," she drawled cynically.

Astoria insistently shook her head. "I purposefully changed into a wolf in the bathroom because I wanted to feel that connection to pack just one last time. It was like a drug. I _needed_ it. Malfoy could feel the shift when it happened, and he was pulled to me. When I changed back… that's when it happened." She was crying again. "So, you see, _I_ did it. He hadn't wanted to, but _I_ forced it. He tried to stay away from me, to fight against the attraction. He tried _really hard_, Hermione. I swear to you, he did. And after, he had such regret that we hardly said anything else to each other the entire way to Tulcea." Her tears poured in rivulets down her cheeks, staining them with salt. "It was _such_ a mistake. I regret it now, too."

The more Greengrass said, the deeper the knife slid in, but at least Hermione knew what had happened now; it was what she had cautioned Malfoy about before he'd left – that staying in the form of the wolf for too long could become too dangerous for them both. She'd read stories about wizards and witches who had lost themselves to the animal construct they'd adopted, never to return as human. Apparently, shy, innocent, naïve Astoria Greengrass had almost succumbed fully to the carnal allure of her transfigured beast. It was a good thing that her human-established moral understanding of right and wrong was as strong as it was; her guilt kept her from staying in wolf form permanently. If she'd been a little less principled, she probably would have been lost to them for good.

With a plan firmly decided upon, Hermione vowed to see Astoria out of camp and whisked away from the danger of their situation no matter the cost. The girl deserved a chance to raise her baby away from the horrors they faced, and possibly in America, Malfoy's little girl or boy could live a relatively happy life after all. "I'll make the arrangements immediately," she informed her charges. "And I'll ask for volunteers to go with you. When you get out to San Francisco, you'll be safe."

"Are you going to tell him?" Greengrass asked timidly.

Hermione considered it. "Are _you_?"

Astoria looked out over the vast, dark ocean nearby, silently contemplating her predicament. Finally, she shook her head. "I will before I leave. For now, let him and everyone else think I've fallen ill with a sickness that can only be cured overseas. Can you make something up for me?"

Such deceit did not sit well with Hermione. But the decision to inform the group of the girl's delicate condition wasn't hers, so she would abide by Astoria's wishes. "Fine, but you tell Malfoy before you get on that boat or I will. He has a right to know that he'll have a son or daughter out there waiting for him. It might even given him a reason to fight harder to stay alive." She threw out that last bit to keep Greengrass from chickening out.

The petite blonde winced and swallowed in anxiety. "I promise to tell him."

Hermione looked at her and felt another stab of jealousy, which she quickly tamped down. "Fay, help get her back to the tent and cover up the evidence here. You," she pointed to Astoria, "continue to eat correctly and sleep when you need to. You're off rotation from this point on. I want you healthy by the time you hit the ship, so that child in your belly will have a good head start in the world."

At that, she turned on her heel, kicking a little bit of sand up against the back of her leg, and made her way up to the main tent to start calling everyone together.

Today had started off with one hell of a cock-up. She wasn't looking forward to the next part at all.

**X~~~~~X**

She stood at the end of the long table in the main tent and leaned her palms down flat against the cool, dark wooden surface, looking out at the expectant faces around her. Astoria was tucked safely away in the tent she shared with Fay, sleeping, but Dunbar would report back to the girl what was said at this meeting. In that way, the three women stayed on the same page until Astoria was ready to come clean to Malfoy.

"We have a problem," she began seriously, launching right in without preamble. "One of our number is gravely ill. She needs to go to America immediately for a special medical operation. Her disease is potentially life-threatening, and there's no known wizarding cure for it. But I know of Muggle medicine that can help."

It was a vague cover story, but held the absolute truth as its core premise. After all, Astoria _was_ ill in a way, being pregnant in the middle of a world war _was_ hazardous to one's health, and there certainly _wasn't_ a cure for being knocked-up. Further, if the girl decided to terminate her pregnancy once she reached America, only Muggle clinics _could_ provide her with this assistance, as the wizarding world did not have a means for abortive services aside from potions that could only be taken only during the first month after conception (and those potions were nigh impossible to procure anyway; further, brewing them from scratch took months, and it was too late for Astoria to benefit from them anyway).

She looked from face to face, trying to gauge the reaction all around to the bomb she'd just dropped in their laps. Her own team became grave when they noted Astoria's absence, and she knew they understood about whom she was referring. She took a deep breath and plunged on. "This teammate needs to leave within the next two weeks, and she needs an escort to take her by sea over the Atlantic, then across the United States to California. It's a one-way ticket for anyone who goes, because you'd need to stay with your charge to assure she got the correct treatments from her doctors. I'm asking for volunteers. So, speak up now or forever hold your peace."

For a few seconds, no one said anything, but then, Charlie Weasley spoke up. "I'll go. My family's all out there anyway – what's left of 'em."

Silence greeted Charlie's enlistment, but now that the first person had boldly stepped forward, Hermione knew there would be others of interest. "Anyone else?" she asked, her eyes meeting every single person at that table one at a time. "Take this seriously, people. If you harbor any desire whatsoever to get the hell out, this is your chance - maybe your only one." The implication was clear: either you bow out gracefully for a noble cause now or you stay until you're either dead or Lord Mort is defeated. It was a one-time offer.

Hesitantly, Jason Swann, Philip Cadwallader and one of the Romanian women – the blonde, Relia Toia - raised their hands. She nodded, no judgment in her gaze.

"Okay then. Snape, Malfoy and I will meet to discuss who goes, and let you know our answer in a few days," she informed the group. "Breakfast is in an hour. You're free until then. Thank you." With that, she dismissed them and some of them began getting up in twos and threes and left the tent talking quietly together, while still others stayed at the table to converse in hushed tones.

Hermione turned to Adrian Pucey to discuss the day's menu. He'd acquired a helper for the cooking detail – the second of the two Romanian women, Anica Mainu, who seemed to enjoy cooking almost as much as Adrian (that she was an adorable, heart-shaped faced young lady with a plump backside and a slim waist probably didn't escape her teammate's notice, either). After signing off on his breakfast, lunch and dinner plans, she met with Snape and Malfoy quickly to tell them that she would join them after the noontime meal in a private conference to discuss the escort issue. With a curt apology and the excuse of having a slight headache – which she actually _did_ - she took off for her tent.

Securing only the fabric ties on the door flaps, she slipped her shoes off and lay back on her cot, closing her eyes. The blessed silence was wonderful for the short amount of time it lasted. A few minutes into her private meditation, someone untied the tent's bindings and stepped inside unsolicited. "I'm not feeling all that well right now," she grumpily told the interloper. "Can this wait?"

"Do you have need of anything?"

Instead of being annoyed, she unwittingly found herself smiling. If there was one thing Hermione could count on, it was that she could not be mad or upset at Viktor Krum for very long, if at all, because his simplicity, straightforwardness and kindness were _extremely_ charming traits. "No, thank you, Viktor. My head hurts right now and I'd like to just lie here and rest for a bit."

There was a pause, and she could feel her former boyfriend shift from foot to foot. He was probably considering whether to leave her or stay and watch over her. Viktor was nothing if not obvious about his feelings and motivations. "Come, sit up," he eventually bade, kneeling gently at the edge of her cot on the floor. "I teach you Bulgarian recipe for cure of aching head."

She sniggered in amusement and sat up reluctantly. "Okay, what's the trick?"

He slid behind her on his knees, leaned her neck forward so that it lolled on her shoulders, and began pressing and rubbing in slow circles around the pressure points on the back of her head. Within seconds, the throbbing in her temples lessened. "Ooooh, neat," she genuinely smiled, enjoying the tender ministrations.

Viktor was quiet as he worked on her with those strong, big hands of his, and for a fleeting moment, she remembered what it was like for them to twirl her with expertise around a dance floor, and later, how they'd cupped her cheeks as he leaned in, tasting her with his sensual mouth. Viktor Krum had been many important things for Hermione over the years: her very first snog (the night of the dance in Fourth Year, after he'd calmed her crying over Ron's treatment, they'd kissed for well over an hour before he'd escorted her back to her Common Room), and the summer between Fifth and Sixth Years when she'd gone to Bulgaria to visit him, he'd taught her the pleasures of being touched all over naked, and even having a man bury his mouth between her thighs. The only thing she hadn't given him was her virginity, which she now, all these years later, deeply regretted - especially since the man who had eventually stolen her first sexual interlude was a despicable, egocentric, traitorous Death Eater, and he'd done so violently, brutally, and cruelly for his own amusement. Giving herself to Viktor first would have been nice, she sighed with regret.

"You have tense again," Viktor informed her with a _tsk_. "Relax, my Mii-o-nee. Jost feel." An instant later, all thought fled her mind when her former beau shifted the pressure of his hands slightly, rubbing with the heels of his palms now against her neck bones directly. She moaned in delight. Ah, this was Heaven! "I have missed you," he confessed in a low voice that caused the blood in Hermione to start speeding up crazily. "I keep all your letters until Dark Wizards come and burn my home. I never forget you."

The sexual tension between them was suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife, but Hermione did not reply, her mind, body and heart a riot of feelings that were too confused at the moment for her to make any rational sense of them.

"Do you think we could - how to say? - begin again?" he asked, tenderly, a slight catch to his tone.

She opened her mouth to reply, but at that exact moment, Malfoy walked in, uninvited. She looked up, and his eyes passed from her to Viktor and back, taking in the compromising and somewhat intimate position they were situated in. The steely grey depths were unfathomable, as Malfoy's mask of indifference firmly slid into place. Had he heard their conversation just before entering?

"We need to talk," he stated firmly.

Hermione was decidedly furious with him. No matter the protests of Malfoy's manipulated involvement in impregnating Astoria, the fact was he'd taken advantage of the girl while on mission. He should have had better restraint, especially given the strength of his advanced mental discipline (he had become one of the most powerful Occlumens and Legilimens on the planet, according to Snape, who had locked horns with Lord Mort once with both arts and come out, luckily, alive and with a solid idea as to the Dark Lord's cerebral capabilities). That everyone knew Astoria had never had a boyfriend before only made the entire situation somehow worse, as it guaranteed she'd been a virgin. Malfoy had taken that special gift from the girl without love or care, and now Greengrass was in a bind that was both irrevocable and lifelong in its responsibility as a result.

"Later," she icily told him, and their gazes locked. He knew then that she knew his secret, and he physically blanched, even though his features remained firmly composed. "I'm busy at the moment."

His jaw ticked at that, and he looked over at Viktor once more. "Sorry to disturb you," he coldly replied and walked out, the tent flaps fluttering as he briskly passed through them.

Viktor was quiet, as patient as always, but she knew he'd observed the chill between her and her leader with a sharp insight. His hands, however, had continued to massage her despite any misgivings he might have felt with Malfoy around. She wasn't sure if that was some sort of male need to 'mark his territory' or if Viktor had simply wanted to continue to help ease her headache. Maybe he'd noted her tension and had been trying to keep her calm so she didn't give in to a desire for violence. Who knew?

She sighed and slumped back against Viktor's strong chest, world-weary all of the sudden. His arms came around her automatically, embracing her with warmth and true affection and she didn't fight him, actually enjoyed it. He tilted his head so he laid his cheek against the back of her shoulder-length curly hair (she'd been trying to grow it back out after the conversation she'd had with Malfoy about her hair length so many months ago) and she enjoyed the tender moment – an occurrence much too scarce in her life now.

"This is all so overwhelming. And things have changed so much," she finally replied to his earlier offer. "I've changed, Viktor. I'm not sure I'm still the person you once knew. I'm not sure you'd like who I've had to become."

In response, he pressed a small kiss into her hairline. "You vill always be special girl to me, no matter vhat things happened."

Something about his tone… Did he know about what McLaggen had done to her? She felt shame burn her to the very center of her being, despite reminding herself again that _she'd_ been the victim of violence and had done nothing wrong that day. "Give me time to think about it, please," she requested simply, needing to sort through the unexpected situation. She felt too raw right at the moment to make a good decision.

Viktor boldly pressed his lips against her cheek, and she felt her blood flush to the spot in a wave of warmth. "I vait for you," he whispered, and then released her gently, stood and left her tent without another word. Hermione let out a sigh of frustration, and threw herself back against the pillow once more. Her headache was gone, but now a different set of aches were taking its place – one in the center of her chest, the other in the center of her feminine core.

Godric's rod, but life was confusing! Just last week, she'd been pining away for Malfoy, and now she was wounded by the very sight of him. To top it off, Viktor Krum had come back into her life, and he clearly wanted her, and to be honest, the offer was a little bit tempting. How could things get so totally flipped around in just a few short days?

_Story of my life_, she cynically sighed, then stood up to go find Clearwater. There were duties to assign and work to be done and food to consume before she met with Snape and _him_ again.

**X~~~~~X**

She didn't see Viktor again until after dinner, as he'd taken his team out to work with Penelope, Blaise and Willem on trading spell secrets in an effort to get everyone's skill levels and abilities (including weaknesses, not just strengths) mapped out. Knowing your team's individual capabilities, as well as who could be counted on not to panic and screw up was the top priority for any successful squad. She did, however, spend forty minutes in a private conversation in Malfoy's tent with the blond _and_ her former professor regarding that morning's favorite new topic, and by the end of it, her headache had returned.

"They all go," she insisted, rubbing her index finger and thumb over the bridge of her nose to ward off the pain stabbing the middle of her forehead. "Everyone who volunteered outright is telling us they don't want to be here anymore. If they stay, they'll become a liability and maybe even a danger to the team. No one screws up worse than a person who's lost the will to fight. And you both know that a person like that tends to take others down with them when they crash. Not to mention the danger they represent to morale."

"I was informed that Swann is a competent hex caster and never wavers in the face of danger," Snape argued back. "And Cadwallader is a poisons expert. I could train him up over the next few months for the infiltration operation I proposed earlier. Both are too valuable to let go long-term. "

"He's right, Granger," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly, his face still carefully neutral. "Send Toia and Weasley, but keep the other two back. Bradley needs help holding the front line."

She sighed. "Fine, then Swann stays - against my better judgment. But we've already talked about your proposed strategy, Severus. You're _not_ sending Philip undercover into Dark Wizard Central," she stated angrily. "Going into The Fortress is suicide."

"Staying on this island is as well, Miss Granger," Snape snidely reminded her. "Are you suggesting that we should all escape while we can, then, just to stay safe?"

"Quit with the Slytherin mind games," she growled back. "I'm not biting. My people aren't pawns on a chess board that you can throw away as you see fit so you can exact revenge. Cadwallader wants to leave the fight, so we should let him go."

Snape looked at her coolly, collectedly and Hermione felt her flesh creep under that black gaze. "That young man could kill dozens of Death Eaters – maybe even Lord Mort himself - with the right potion dropped into food and drink," he pointedly and calmly countered.

Hermione gritted her teeth, seeing the logic in the argument, but still torn up by the thought of sacrificing anyone on pure speculation and chance. "Let it be Philip's choice then," she defied. "We should present him with your plan – including the risks - and ask him if he's willing. If he says no, we let him go to America with the others, no further pressure or questions asked." She leaned forward in her chair, emphasizing her next words. "That's my non-negotiable compromise on the subject, Severus. Take it or bugger off."

Snape looked over at Malfoy, and the two shared a silent communique before her former professor turned back to her with a nod in agreement. The pact made between them, Hermione felt her stomach riot, churning over the lunch she'd consumed earlier.

**X~~~~~X**

After presenting Philip with Severus' plan, and divulging the fact that the mission would most likely be a suicide run, they waited for the young man to give them his answer, each of the team leaders on edge for completely different, but interrelated, reasons.

"I'll do it," Cadwallader accepted with very little hesitation, his voice firm.

Hermione was floored. "Why?" she asked. "Why throw your life away like this?"

His tired, brown eyes looked at her with determination. "That bastard killed my parents and my sisters. I never thought I'd get a shot at him. It's why I volunteered this afternoon to go to America. But now… I want this chance."

Inside, Hermione felt a little bit of her soul die. She was going to do it. She was going to send Philip Cadwallader to his death. Now she understood what Malfoy had felt every time he'd had to make a decision of his magnitude.

"Okay, then," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly. "You'll be working with Snape for the next few weeks exclusively for training you up in Occlumency and Potions. You're off nightly watch duty starting now, but I expect you to continue to do your share for clean-up, set-up and take-down as usual."

Philip nodded, and with a vigorous 'good night' to his three senior staff members, he quickly left Malfoy's tent. Immediately, tears wavered in Hermione's eyes and she turned to leave, looking to escape the crushing grief in her heart by fleeing back to the solitude of her tent. Snape's voice behind her halted her hand as it rose to push the fabric flap aside.

"I will give him all of the knowledge I possess. Perhaps it will be enough."

She let out a sad huff. "Shut up. Just… shut it."

Hurrying back to her cot, she threw herself down into a seated position on the floor, burying her face in her hands. Great gasping sobs were torn from her and for once, Hermione wished that the burden of leadership belonged to someone else.

Strong arms encircled her unexpectedly, and a familiar man's scent invaded her nose. Viktor didn't say anything to her; he didn't have to. He must have seen her cross over to her tent, upset, and come to investigate. He was always watching her, it seemed. She flung her arms around his shoulders, desperate to be comforted, and held on as she cried against the broad, strong chest. Viktor rocked her back and forth gently, and then lay her down on her cot, pulled the covers up over them both, and let her drift off to sleep in his arms after her tears had finally run their course.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	5. Ch 5: Hard Decisions

**Chapter Five: **_**Hard Decisions**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands & Coventry, England**_

**Friday, September 1, 2000**

Hermione awoke with a warm body – fully clothed, thank Merlin! – spooning her. Instantly remembering the night before, she flushed hot with embarrassment. Gads, had she really cried like a child in Viktor Krum's arms? Really let him lay her down in her cot, and offer her soothing shushes and light touches on her hair, face and neck until she'd fallen asleep? Had she really encouraged him so?

A small kiss suddenly placed on her temple told her that she had.

Internally, she groaned. Talk about awkward!

They were quiet, lying together innocently, each lost in their own thoughts for a good ten minutes, at which point Hermione cleared her throat and finally broke the ice. "Thank you for being a friend to me last night," she offered in a near whisper, her voice raspy from crying.

His smile stretched against her neck as he placed a chaste kiss there. "I do not like you to cry, my Mii-o-nee. It makes my heart sad. If I – how you say? - cheer you up, vee both feel good, yes?"

She couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her throat. Viktor's attempts at mastering English were adorable, and his efforts at lightening her mood were sweet. "You really know all the right things to say."

"This makes me glad," he admitted and released her from his arms as she sat up and stretched. "May I valk you to morning fast?" he asked, looking out the tent flaps to apparently try to gauge the time by the intensity of the sunlight.

She reached over him for her wand, which was lying out on the floor next to the cot, directly behind his legs. "Yes, that would be nice," she said just as Blaise Zabini burst into her tent unannounced, clearly agitated. He stopped short seeing a disheveled Hermione leaning over Viktor Krum's body and blinked.

"Oh, hey, sorry," he backed off, putting his hands over his eyes, as if to shield them from seeing something he ought not to. "Should I give you a minute or do you want to hear that Astoria and Fay have gone missing now?"

She swore then – a really nasty curse, and immediately she blushed, catching sight of Viktor's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline in shock. "Sorry," she murmured. "I don't usually talk like that." She turned to Blaise. "For heaven's sake, you can open your eyes. We're both fully clothed." Zabini dropped his hands and she finished reaching for her wand, snatching it up and standing hurriedly. "What's going on?" Next to her, Viktor rolled out of her bunk and stood, adjusting his clothes and listened in intently.

"The last anyone saw of Fay was last night," Blaise filled her in. "She said she was going to check on Astoria. We all assumed she just went to bed after that. This morning, I went to confront Fay about how she cheats at cards – so I could pick up her trick - and there's no one in their tent. Both cots looked like they'd been slept in, but both were cold to the touch. I've been all over the camp looking along with everyone else. No one can find either of them. They're just… gone."

Hermione clamped her lips down firmly to prevent herself from cussing again. "Go to their tent and collect something from each of them, then bring it to me in the main tent in two minutes," she ordered, and Blaise scuttled out as quickly as his feet could carry him. Hermione followed him out, Viktor hot on her heels, and they headed towards the largest pavilion. Before she could reach it, however, Viktor stopped her with hands on her upper arms that gently turned her around.

"I must change clothing and report to Snape," he told her. "I meet you back here in few minutes." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then hurried off to his tent. As she watched him go, she turned just in time to see Malfoy standing off to the side, staring at her. His raking eyes indicated that he was clearly furious. Was he mad because of Fay and Astoria's disappearance, or because she and Viktor had emerged from her tent together? Surely it had to be the former, because the latter was nothing but wishful thinking on her part.

She sighed inwardly and approached him, mentally preparing for a nasty confrontation. "You know that Fay and Astoria are missing?" she asked simply. He nodded curtly, his face already slipping back under his usual tight control. "Can you get everyone together to meet in the main tent in two minutes?" she requested politely, all business. "We need to talk about it. This isn't something we can keep hidden."

He turned on his heel immediately and moved off into the camp, gathering the teams without a single word uttered to her. She cursed under her breath once he was out of earshot, and then moved on towards her original destination.

A few minutes later, everyone was seated at the long table in the grand pavilion, while Hermione calmly took a hairbrush and an earring from Zabini and drew her map of the U.K. out of her Bag of Holding, laying all the items flat on the table in front of them. "Okay, minutes count here, folks, so I'll get right to the point," she addressed the group no nonsense. "You all know that Fay and Astoria are missing, obviously. I think I've got a way to find them, though, if they haven't gone too far out of range."

Without further ado, she grabbed Greengrass' hairbrush, pointed her wand at it and muttered a spell she'd only recently worked up all on her own to keep tabs on her people. "_Memorus Corpus __Astoria Greengrass._" Once her wand had gotten a good "sniff" of Astoria's unique energy signature from an item she'd used less than twenty-four hours previously, she pointed the wand to the map on the table. "_Revelio Corpus_." There were a few gasps and murmurs around the table and people leaned in, some even standing up to see over the others to catch the result. It was a brand new spell set, and this was her first public use.

The wand dangled from Hermione's fingers over the map, pointing downward. As she spoke the second spell, it flashed light blue and then moved her hand of its own accord towards Stratford-Upon-Avon, where it rested with finality.

Damn.

Hermione put the brush down and picked up Fay's earring and repeated the spells – with the same exact result.

Double damn and mate.

She put the earring and her wand down and slowly lowered herself into her chair, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes as she leaned heavily against the table with a deep sigh. Holy hell, Stratford-on-Avon – the lair of The Madam herself.

The pieces all fell into place suddenly.

"Shit, she was a spy," Hermione muttered angrily in the silence, emotionally sucker punched by what appeared to have been the perfect fraud. "Dunbar lied from the get-go. She'd never escaped from Parkinson's House - she'd been let out so she could infiltrate our group." She closed her eyes in agonized guilt and remorse. "Ernie, Lavender and Justin's deaths so soon after she'd come to us… She'd led the Death Eaters right to us."

Zabini was irate with denial. "_NO. _If Fay was a plant, she'd have told the enemy where to find us before now."

Hermione shook her head as the facts matched up. "We jumped around too much after that fight last year, never staying in one spot for more than a week at the most. It was probably too difficult to try to get a message out to her allies, and even if she'd managed it, we'd have most likely moved on by the time the Death Eaters _had_ managed to rally themselves enough to work together on tracking us down. Their internal power squabbling is probably the only reason we're all still alive."

"Why now, though, and why only take Greengrass?" Jeremy piped up, also obviously gob smacked by the thought of betrayal by someone they'd let into their lives and trusted. He'd been one of Fay's most frequent "customers."

Hermione thought about how much she should reveal of her suspicions. "Our group just doubled in size. I bet that wasn't something Fay or the Death Eaters were expecting. She'd need to report the new intel immediately to her higher-ups." She clenched her jaw as she bit out the last part. "And Astoria makes the perfect hostage at the moment because she's pregnant."

For his part, Malfoy didn't outwardly react, despite the fact the table erupted into chaos at the announcement. Hermione shut everyone down immediately when she stood abruptly. "We don't have time to discuss the wheres and whys. Focus, people. I'm going to lead a team to go and bring her back. I need at least two volunteers to come with."

Immediately, her entire small group raised their hands, sans Malfoy. "No _fucking_ way," he countered instead, voice loud, unyielding and abruptly furious. "_You_ don't go."

Hermione was surprised when her voice came out rather even, despite the rage seething behind her face. "Sorry, but you don't get a vote this time, Malfoy. I'm doing this."

The table was suddenly deathly quiet, everyone nervously glancing up and down between the two disagreeing factions, sensing the impending battle and wisely staying out of the way.

Malfoy stood menacingly slow, his eyes betraying the crack that had fissured through his carefully constructed, neutral expression. "I wasn't aware this was a democracy, Granger," he hissed back. "Two years ago, you pledged to follow _my_ orders, remember? So, here they are: you don't go. I will."

Hermione balled her hands into fists, seeing red flash before her eyes. "Will the rest of you excuse us, please?" The dismissal was curt, but everyone caught on that they were sitting in the middle of Ground Zero and beat their feet the hell out while they still could. When it was just her and Malfoy alone finally, she picked up her wand from the table, waved it in the air from left to right to bespell the whole tent against all forms of eavesdropping, and then threw down.

"The only reason they took Astoria was because they want at _you_. You fucked her and knocked her up and now she's become a hostage to draw you out," she snarled unrestrained at last, working her temper up until her voice was brittle and her entire body was shaking with the need to hit something. "The Death Eaters may be divided, but they aren't stupid. They know that without you, this little rebellion of ours is finished. This is all _your fault_, Malfoy. Astoria will be tortured and probably killed because you couldn't keep your accursed hands off." There were standing tears in her eyes by the time she'd finished her vitriolic accusations. Silence reigned supreme for a good few minutes while he considered her words.

"You're right. It _is_ my fault," he admitted evenly. "That's why I need to be the one to bring her back."

When no apology was forthcoming, Hermione spat in disgust. "You wouldn't get thirty meters from the front door of Phaedra's place without being _Stupefy'd _or_ Avada'd_, and you know it, Dark Mark or not." She shook her head. "If Astoria's being held captive in that place, it's going to take a miracle to get her out."

"Which is precisely what I think I can offer in this circumstance," Snape pronounced from the tent entrance, surprising them both, obviously having lingered and circled back in without either of them noticing. "I believe I have a plan for getting you into The Madam's House, Miss Granger, to rescue your wayward associate. _If_ she is still there and _if_ she is still alive, that is."

"And how about a way out?" Malfoy asked, perceptively irritated that Snape would interrupt their row, much less take Hermione's side.

"Of course," Snape drawled. "But this plan will destroy the cover of someone I have on the inside of Lord Mort's organization. We will lose vital intelligence. If you believe Miss Greengrass is worth the exchange, I may be able to help you."

Hermione's jaw almost hit the floor. "You've got a spy among the Death Eaters? Since when?"

Snape's black eyes swung between his two former students with a raised eyebrow. "Soon after the rise of the new Dark Lord. He's an… acquaintance of you both, having attended Hogwarts at the same time as yourselves. He can get Miss Granger into Parkinson's house of ill repute and smuggle both she and Astoria out."

She saw Malfoy's eyes narrow. "And why would you compromise this spy of yours now if he's so in-the-thick of things? I'd think you'd want him to stay right where he is, Severus." The mistrust oozed off of every word.

Snape's cheek twitched in annoyance. "Because the Dark Lord has become more active of late, and I fear my operative's secret will be found out sooner rather than later. He is a strong Occlumens, better than me, in fact, but Lord Mort is more powerful than any wizard I have ever known. In short, my associate's life is in jeopardy and it's time for him to abandon his mission and rejoin us. Miss Greengrass' abduction and your willingness to throw yourselves into the heart of enemy territory to rescue her presents a sound opportunity to solve both problems at once."

Hermione crossed her arms, mulling over the offer. "Okay, tell me more," she called him in, indicating that Snape should take the seat next to her, ignoring Malfoy's stormy, mistrusting glare.

Half an hour later, Hermione was convinced that Severus' idea was as sound an operation as any she could come up with herself. She would transfigure her features and meet up with Snape's spy in Coventry. From there, they would travel to Stratford-On-Avon, she pretending to be the Death Eater's newest captive to be taken to Madam Parkinson to be put to work. Once inside the magically impregnable high-class whorehouse, the spy would pretend to want to be Hermione's (who would be known as 'Jean') sole client, paying handsomely for the privilege. In private, the two would then modify Hermione's locator spell to focus it down so that Greengrass' hairbrush would tug her in the right direction and they would spring Astoria. Using a series of Portkeys (that the spy would hold onto for safe keeping), the three of them would bug-out back to Kirkwall in a series of jumps which would throw off any pursuit with their randomness (Portkey travel was actually safe for the pregnant Astoria, utilizing a different type of magic from Apparation).

"I don't like it," Malfoy predictably stated. "You have no contingencies if something goes off and you're captured. And how do you know we can trust your spy isn't a double agent?"

Snape sniffed in condescension. "I assure you that he isn't."

Malfoy speared his former Head of House with an acute glare. "How do you _know?_"

For long moments, Severus simply stared back at his former pupil, his black eyes unfathomable. With a blink, he looked down. "Because I know the mind of my own son."

Hermione couldn't have been more shocked than if she'd been told Dumbledore was still alive. Snape had a child their age? She certainly didn't remember any student with the same last name as her former teacher, so that meant the boy must have been given his mother's surname instead. But why had Snape never openly acknowledged the boy? She chanced a look over at Malfoy, and he seemed as surprised as she, although his features were carefully schooled against overreaction.

"I guess it's decided then," she heard herself mutter. The two men looked at her in curiosity. "If he's yours and you say he's honorable, then I'll trust him, Severus." Malfoy looked to argue, but she cut him off by talking over anything he'd been about to say. "Can you contact him immediately and fill him in on the details? I'll want to leave by tonight."

Severus stood and nodded. "I'll make the necessary arrangements right away." With that, he exited the tent, his black robes waving behind his swiftly moving form.

The meeting over and a plan in place, Hermione gathered up her map, folding it precisely, refusing to look at her companion, knowing what he was going to say and afraid of replying with all the wrong things. Too much between them needed to be aired, but she'd already spoken her peace about his affair with Astoria. She would not appear the jealous fool by rehashing it.

"Send Clearwater," he ordered, breaching the awkwardness. "She's almost as good at Transfiguration as you and doesn't mind using the Unforgivables when necessary."

She shook her head firmly. "We nearly lost Neville in your absence. He was on the verge of suicide. Penelope's healed him up. If she died now, it would be the end for him. Like Sea after Lavender or maybe worse. We'd be trading two powerful wizards for one if things went bad."

"Then pick someone else," he appealed. "_Please._"

His sincere supplication was almost her undoing, but Hermione knew that this one time, she had no choice but to defy him. She put the map into an inner pocket in her robes. "Who do you suggest exactly? There are only four other women in camp now aside from me. I don't know the Romanian girls well enough to trust them with something this important. Megan isn't a good enough Transfigurer to hold a shape for long enough; she was terrible at it in school. And I already told you that Clearwater isn't an option. I'm all that's left, and honestly, you know I'm the only one who can pull this off with the best chance of success."

He stood with a fluid, catlike grace and crossed the space between them in a few long legged strides, stopping abruptly less than half a meter from her. Very, very hesitantly Malfoy reached out and put his hand on the side of her shoulder. Hermione could count the number of times he'd voluntarily touched her throughout their nine-year acquaintance, and it was definitely less than one hand's worth of fingers. The feel was both magnetic and suffocating at the same time. Her heart leapt into her throat, her blood sped through her veins, arching like lightning through her core. As if sensing her involuntary response, his hand trembled slightly and he squeezed her flesh drawing her closer by applying pressure. "Be angry with me, Granger," he bid, his voice low, hypnotic. "Hate me for what I've done. I accept that I behaved like a jackarse. But don't throw your life away recklessly like this. If I had to bury you..." He left the thought unfinished, and for a moment, pain flashed through his eyes.

She stared up at him and suddenly wanted very desperately to feel alive just once.

_Kiss him_, that inner voice in her mind screamed at her. _Don't think about it. Just do it. _

With courage she didn't know she was capable of, Hermione leaned forward a bit, tilted her head up, and with pleading eyes, urged Malfoy's lips to drop down onto hers. His storm-gray orbs widened slightly, and then lowered in heady fascination, his gaze lowering to her proffered lips in recognition of her request. He hedged closer, and locked stares with her again, a question of her surety in his gaze.

Before anything more could happen, however, Pucey sauntered back into the tent to begin preparations for lunch, breaking the spell completely. Having been caught doing something "sinful," Hermione jerked back from Malfoy and automatically looked away, feeling an extreme blush crawl all over her cheeks. His arm grudgingly dropped away from her, as if he hadn't cared that Pucey had caught them in the act, but was clearly disturbed by her guilty reaction. The awkwardness cocooned around them once more, and Hermione felt its weighty oppression against her very soul.

Adrian froze in the entrance of the tent, understanding that he'd interrupted a "moment" accidentally, and moved aside as Malfoy turned abruptly and walked past him out the tent opening without a word. Her teammate looked abashedly at her. "Sorry. I didn't know…"

Hermione shook her head, quashing the disappointment in her chest. "Nothing happened for you to be sorry for. We were only talking." She took another few seconds to compose herself, and then followed Malfoy's lead and hurried out, knowing there would be a lot of work to accomplish before nightfall. Focusing on tasks was easier than reliving the memory of his eyes flashing with desire for her.

**X~~~~~X**

That evening at dinner, Snape explained to the group that Hermione would be going alone to retrieve Astoria from The Madam's House, instead of what they'd earlier discussed. As expected, this pronouncement was met with a chorus of challenges, but the former professor quickly tramped down on the resistance by logically laying out the facts: that Hermione was the only female on team who could hold a long term Transfiguration while Apparating. Hermione then stood and reassured everyone that she was more than capable and prepared, and reminded them of her motto: _no one_ got left behind. It was her unspoken promise to each of them, no matter the cost, and it went a long way towards keeping the arguments about her risking herself for Astoria to a minimum.

After dinner, she retreated to her tent for a final check and repacking of her Bag of Holding. So engrossed was she in her task that she jumped when a pair of warm arms came about her, cradling her gently against a broad, well-muscled chest. She knew who it was without even looking, his unique scent – leather, a woodsy fragrance from the soap he used, and his body's natural musk – combined to tickle her nose.

"Please be careful, my Mii-o-nee," Viktor pleaded with her, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. "I am vorried for you already."

She smiled at the new nickname – a shortening of her name. It was quite endearing, actually. "I'll be back in a week, maybe two at the most," she reassured him, trying to remain optimistic and light, despite the fact she felt just the opposite inside. "I won't be gone long enough for you to notice anyway."

His hands moved to her waist boldly and he turned her to face him. "No, _milla_, I vill know you are not here, and I vill not sleep vell until you return home."

Inside her chest, Hermione's heart started pounding. Okay, so she was _seriously_ attracted to Viktor Krum still… but that wasn't the same as loving him. She wasn't sure if she even _had_ those kinds of feelings for him, although obviously he did for her. And then there was the problem of Malfoy… She was terribly conflicted at that moment and tried to pull away and put space between them, but Viktor's hands on her tightened, pinning her in place.

"You run from me," he murmured the truth. "Because you have love for him - your Malfoy. I know. I see."

She shut her eyes, embarrassed, and to her horror, tears fell off her lashes and down her cheeks. Viktor's gentle fingers brushed them away, and he cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him, his breath hot on her face.

"But I think you vant me, too, yes? I prove to you."

The kiss Viktor gave her was achingly gentle and warm and filled with promises. He alternated between nipping and sucking gently on her lower lip in a way that tantalized her senses. Then his tongue dipped out and traced the line of her lips and nudged its way between the gash of her mouth, urging her to part open for him, and she blindingly obeyed, not thinking, but just feeling. His tongue expertly stroked, lapped, and tasted, eroding away her will with every pass, and hesitantly, she began to respond to his seduction. As soon as her own tongue met his, he groaned and wrapped his arms around her tightly, drawing her into intimate contact with his whole, hard body. She gripped his burly shoulders for support, noting how very powerful he physically was, and yet how gentle his enthrallment of her was. The kiss deepened, but Viktor maintained a slow, leisurely, tender pace, refusing to be rushed, wanting them to savor the experience.

Had Viktor truly been the only man she'd ever kissed? She'd never gotten the chance with Ron, or with Malfoy. And there had been no other men she'd wanted… It felt strange thinking about what they were doing now in such terms.

After long minutes, Viktor pulled his head back and nuzzled her neck, grazing along the length of her neck with small, wet pecks. His breathing had picked up as he reached her pulse and ran his tongue over it. "_Običam te_," he whispered sweetly in his native language against her ear. "_Zhelaya te. Shte mi lipsvash._"

Hermione pulled back, a little breathless. "What does that mean?"

Viktor looked at her adoringly, and then dipped back in for another kiss that left her panting. He pulled back reluctantly, licking his lips, as if wanting more, but unwilling to push at that moment. "Promise you vill come back soon," he beseeched. "And then, you vill give me your answer."

Looking into his dark, brown eyes, Hermione nodded. "Okay."

Viktor hugged her again as if he would never let her go, and Hermione sighed, wondering what her answer to his request for them to renew their relationship would eventually be.

**X~~~~~X**

The goodbyes from the teams were punctuated with a lot of wishes for good luck, handshakes and and occasional hug, until finally the members left off to return to camp. When it was only she, Snape and Malfoy standing at the edge of the sand line, her former professor handed her a silver necklace with a large green-gem locket-pendant dangling from the chain. "When you near your contact, the pendant will grow warm. Look into it and you will see a reflection of his face to know him. Once more, I must request your discretion on the matter of my son's birth. He does not know I am his father. I expect your strictest confidence on the matter, Miss Granger."

She nodded automatically, having discussed this issue with him just before dinner. "Of course, Severus. Your secret is safe."

He accepted her word with a single, curt nod and then handed her a thin, hardcover book (_Tales of Beedle the Bard_), a Slytherin House scarf in dark green, and a man's leather belt. "These are your Portkeys. The scarf will bring you here to Kirkwall. The other two are random jumps to throw off pursuit while you are escaping The Madam's House – one to Edinburgh, the other to Bristol." She put the three Portkeys in her Bag of Holding, and swung the necklace over her head and settled the pendant between her breasts. Her former professor looked at her for a moment, and then held out his hand. "Good luck to you, Hermione."

She took Snape's hand, astounded that he'd actually used her first name for once, and they shook in a very brief exchange. He then turned away and headed back into camp. She and Malfoy were now alone once more.

After long moments of more clumsy silence between them, Malfoy held out his right hand to her, fist closed. "For you," he stated softly and opened his palm, face up. In the cradle of his pale skin lay his titanium Slytherin school ring. Before she'd even registered her movement, she'd reached out with her fingertips and touched the metal with her nails, staring into the dark emerald eyes of the figure of the snake that was swallowing its own tail. He stepped closer, lifted her right hand with his left and slipped the ring onto her fourth finger. Magically, it squeezed down to fit her perfectly.

"It's an Ouroboros," he explained, holding onto her hand still and looking down at the ring on it. "A never-ending circle of resurrection - the eternal return." He looked up at her pointedly. "I want it back soon, Granger."

As they stared into each other's eyes meaningfully, the moon hedged its way out from behind a small span of clouds, illuminating the beach, reflecting bewitchingly off of the water and Malfoy's white-blond hair. Godric, he was so beautiful that it hurt to look at him! To be this close, to be touching again... But with the lingering feel of Viktor's lips on hers, Hermione didn't have the audacity to attempt to kiss Malfoy again; it would somehow seem blasphemous.

"I'll return this to you. I promise," she whispered and squeezed his hand in hers, giving him a sad smile.

They stared into each other's eyes for a dozen heartbeats before he finally stepped back, letting her go. She lifted her wand to Apparate away, and the last thing she heard was his voice before the echoing crack disrupted the night.

"I'll be waiting for you, Granger."

**X~~~~~X**

She landed in the middle of the cobbled square in the ruins of Saint Michael's Cathedral in Coventry. Built almost six hundred years before, all that remained of the one-time tallest structure in England were its walls and its great spire. The Germans had bombed the site during the Muggle Second World War, more than half a century earlier; it had become a tourist-trap during the intervening years. At this time of night, during this time of the year, the Cathedral was closed, and so it was that she was completely alone in the small square. She felt vulnerable out in the open, so she ran for the dark shadowy cover of one wall and waited for her contact to appear.

She took out the locket-pendant and looked into it. It showed her nothing and was cold to the touch. Snape's son was not close enough yet, apparently.

She waited over an hour before the locket-pendant started to heat up. A face stirred in the large gem; he was handsome, surprisingly. A man of approximately her age, he had medium-length, straight black hair, bangs that terminated at the same height as sexy lips, and dark brown eyes with thick black lashes. His jaw line was strong, like his chin, and his nose straight. He definitely took more after his mother, then - whoever she had been - as he'd dodged getting shackled with Snape's large, hooked nose, greasy hair and thin lips. The spy looked vaguely familiar, but there had been a lot of people at Hogwarts and she hadn't exactly befriended every single one of them.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up. A tall, svelt figure made its way along the far wall, hugging the dark spaces as she had. She could barely see his features given the lack of light, but the gem was getting warmer in her hand so she knew that this indistinct form had to be her contact. She made her way over to him, keeping an eye at the same time on the other shadows of the square to make sure nothing stirred there.

They both stopped when they were a good three or so meters from each other.

"Gadding with Ghouls," she whispered the secret catch phrase loud enough for him to hear, and waited for the return answer.

"Holidays with Hags," he correctly replied, and made his way over to her immediately, holding out his hand. "Granger, nice to see you again."

Stuck by a moment of enlightenment, she was finally able to place the face of the spy. She'd had very little contact with him, as he'd been in Slytherin House, but she _did_ remember him from her Transfiguration classes. He'd been the only other person in her year to get an "O" on his O.W.L. on the subject.

"Theodore Nott," she shook her head in amazement. "Now this _is_ a surprise."

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED….**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Milla = Bulgarian for "honey" (in the sense of darling/sweetheart)**

**Običam te = Bulgarian for "I love you"**

**Zhelaya te = Bulgarian for "I want you"**

**Shte mi lipsvash = Bulgarian for "I will miss you"**


	6. Ch 6: Into The Lair of Sin

**Chapter Six: **_**Into The Lair of Sin**_

_**Coventry, England**_

**Friday, September 1, 2000 – Saturday, September 2, 2000**

That Theodore Nott was a Death Eater spy for the insurrection was somewhat believable. That he was Severus Snape's illegitimate son was absolutely mind-boggling, however. But, like his father, he possessed a powerful mind and magical ability, as Hermione quickly discovered upon their removal from the ruins of Saint Michael's Cathedral and headed on foot into Coventry proper to his private flat.

They didn't speak as they crossed Muggle sidewalks, occasionally ducking into alleys or into deep pocketed entry nooks of Muggle retail stores, and once even into a gutted, graffiti-decorated red phone booth, both keenly aware of the extreme danger of being together in the open, regardless of the time of night and the fact that he'd cast at least half a dozen non-verbal spells to assure they remained unseen and unheard.

A good two hours had passed in silence when they finally approached Theodore's residence. As they stepped into the middle of an opening between buildings in a residential section of the town, he stopped, took out his wand and tapped four times in a random pattern on the side of a stone face surface before them and spoke a password – presumably for a _Fidelius_ Charm on his temporary home. The stones turned around as one and a painted red door suddenly appeared. Pushing on it, the entry opened into a dark space, and Nott pressed Hermione through unceremoniously and quickly stepped behind her, shutting the magical portal and plunging them into pitch blackness. "Lumos," he cast aloud, clearly more for her benefit than for the need to say the spell aloud. Instantly, the room brightened with pure, white light.

Hermione could see at once that they stood in a no-frills, one-room studio, obviously designed for the needs of a single occupant who wanted to remain incognito and who wouldn't mind leaving it behind in a hurry, should the need arise. There was an old, dark green upholstered fold-out couch against one wall. Opposite it was a large, unstained wood cupboard that lacked doors, and on its shelves were a myriad of neatly organized items: a couple of folded woolen blankets, two small pillows, a few bath towels, a set of dishes, mugs, silverware and cutlery, a couple of paper napkins, a metal tea kettle, some half-used candles on silver sticks, basic toiletries, a Muggle medi-kit in a white plastic container, about a dozen flat-bottomed potion vials that contained different colored liquids, a cauldron, an old-fashioned Bunsen burner, some parchment, and a quill and inkpot. Next to the shelving unit was a small, round café table with one wooden chair tucked in. Against the far wall was an open door leading into a small water closet, complete with a toilet, small sink, a round mirror, and a narrow shower stall that had a plain white, plastic Muggle curtain strung across it. No paint or pictures decorated the grey stone walls, no rugs lined the floor, no windows looked out, and there was no fireplace. The place had no personality, as it was meant for utility only, and its air was a little stuffy, as if it hadn't been used for at least a month or two. Luckily, no dust had accumulated, as the place seemed Soot Sprite free due to its vacuum-like shut in.

"It's not much to look at," Theodore explained, heading for the cupboard and pulling out two candles, lighting them with his wand. "But it'll do in a pinch." He waved his wand from right to left across the length of the room, and there was a subtle warming effect; a heating charm, thank the makers, as Hermione was now good and chilled thanks to their swift walk through Coventry's windy streets in the cool autumnal air. He looked over at her, his face lit up with a strange anxiety. "Come in, please." He indicated that she should take a seat on the couch.

"Thank you," she murmured and crossed the space to seat her bum on the not-too-uncomfortable couch, trying to suss Nott out. The man before her might be Snape's son, and therefore he'd been vouched for, but he _was_ a stranger, really. And he'd been in the Death Eater's camp for two years. For those reasons, she was understandably cautious.

"Hungry?" he asked. "I picked up some food before meeting with you. We can have a snack before lights out, if you want."

Without waiting for her reply, he turned to the small table, withdrew a small, cloth bag from his inner robes, opened it and pulled out a cloth sack of groceries; clearly it was a Bag of Holding, charmed to be bottomless and to hold any amount of items of any size. He pulled out a cloth sack of roasted, shelled peanuts and a box of single-serve tea bags. Getting the kettle down from the shelf, he filled it with water with a simple _Aquamenti_ spell, and then proceeded to heat it magically as well. Taking down two mugs, he poured the water into the cups and placed a teabag in each. He crossed the small space to her, handing her the mug. "Let it steep," he advised, and then handed over the bag of peanuts; they were still warm and their scent brought on a wave of nostalgia for the past, specifically conjuring up the memory of walking as a small child with her parents through carnival, holding fast to their hands as they passed by multicolored, pinioned tents and rode on the Ferris Wheel together... Hermione swallowed past the lump of sadness in her throat and focused on the here and now. "Theodore," she began, but her host cut her off, turning back to get his own tea.

"Call me Theo," he offered sincerely, and crossed over to her side to sit down next to her. He did not lean into the couch, instead sipping at his tea and watching her over the edge, his full attention fixated on her. That direct, sienna gaze was a little unnerving in its intensity.

"Theo," she tried again, smiling politely. "Thank you for doing this for us. Astoria means a lot to the team." She blew on her drink to cool it and sipped it then, letting the warm liquid flow against the back of her throat. It was an herbal berry blend, she absently noted. "But I can't help wonder how you feel about it. I mean, you're sticking your neck out for someone you don't even know, and I still have no idea why."

He watched her for a few seconds, his eyes as unfathomable as Malfoy's were on occasion. After another swallow of his drink, he answered her, his deep, smooth voice as indeterminate of intention as his facial features had become. "I've stuck my neck out, as you put it, for the last two years for people I don't even know, so why should this be any different?"

She lowered her eyes, abashed. "I've insulted you. I apologize. I was merely curious to get to know you better, since we'll be working together so closely for the next few days or weeks."

He tilted his head to the side in a slight nod. "Understandable, Granger," he replied neutrally. "I know you directly from our limited exposure while at Hogwarts, but most of my information on you comes from what Severus or the Death Eaters have shared with me over the years. It seems you have not had the same… exposure… to my comings and goings since the war began. Certainly, you were surprised to see me tonight, so I assume Snape didn't even tell you who your contact was until we met at the ruins?"

She nodded, appraising Theo's every physical nuance and spoken word to get a better understanding of him. "True. I only found out that Severus had a spy working on the inside earlier today, and I certainly didn't expect it to be someone in my same year at school. To be this close to Lord Mort and not have him guess… you must be a powerful Occlumens to pull it off."

Theo shrugged and drank from his mug again. "I had the best teacher. Snape had been training me in the Dark Arts since the summer after Sixth Year in secret, at the behest of Dumbledore, prior to the Headmaster's death." He glanced at her under half-lidded, thick black lashes. "I was to be Potter's secret protector while he was on campus for our final year. But he didn't return to school in September, disappearing with you on your hunt for the Horcruxes instead." He paused for a moment, and appeared to consider whether or not to say what was on his mind, then opened his mouth and divulged his secrets to her in a gambled show of trust. "Snape kept up my training through all of Seventh Year, knowing the war was coming and wanting me prepared to join him in his role as spy for the Order. But it wasn't until after Potter became Lord Mort that I was 'activated,' so to speak." He pierced her with his dark, somber gaze. "I was sent in to gather intelligence, and if the chance ever presented itself, to be Mort's assassin."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly in awe and amazement. "And in two years, you never got a shot at him?" she asked, surprised by her own cynicism, cloaked though it may have been in curiosity.

Theo finished off the contents of his mug, stood and poured himself more water, using the same tea bag. He leaned against the far wall this time, staring at her over his cup. "Mort's too powerful, even when he's… distracted. Anyone coming within ten meters of him is scanned with the strongest Legilimency ever encountered. That's how Mort found out about Snape, and why he had to defect quickly and disappear underground in Eastern Europe. The only reason the Dark Lord hasn't gotten to me yet is that I haven't gotten that close to him. After what happened to Severus, I've intentionally played it so I don't climb the ladder of power within the organization, staying a step away from the top and reporting to MacNair instead. I don't think I'm good enough of an Occlumens to keep Mort out of my mind." He snorted in disgust. "So, I'm stuck gathering what rumors I can, hoping the information I pass on is accurate."

Hermione watched her contact carefully. Either Theo Nott was the best actor she'd ever come across, or he was truly sincere. She had to test him some more, still uncertain which was the truth. Fay had pulled the wool over her eyes but good, and she didn't want to make the same mistake twice. "It must have been lonely for you," she commented, hawkishly looking for a tell-tale twitch of guilt or… something… that might give him away. "Being in the middle of Viper Headquarters with no obvious support, knowing that if you screwed up, you'd most likely be tortured and killed with no one on the outside the wiser - except Snape, of course. But he doesn't give up his secrets easily." She stared at him pointedly. "No one would ever have known what you were _really_ doing. You'd have gone down in history as just one more son-of-a-bitch Death Eater. That's a poor legacy for a good man."

Teddy sighed, and his face crumbled with weariness. It was only then that her eyes – now adjusted to the dimness – noticed his dark circles, the lines of exhaustion at the corners of his mouth, and the few streaks of silvering grey along his temples. Christ, Theo was her age, and yet he looked like a man ten years older. What horrors had he seen – had he been forced to perpetrate to keep his cover – in the last few years? How much had he given up for their cause? In that moment, Hermione felt she could trust him. Ashamed for having doubt, she stood and crossed to his side. Putting her mug on the small table, she turned to him and placed a warm, friendly hand on his shoulder in support. "Well, you're not alone now, Theo," she stated firmly. "And after this last mission, you're coming home where you belong."

Theo gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

Apparently, Snape hadn't told him the good news. "I'm here to pull you out. You're done spying. You can stay with us from now on, or go to America, if you want. Your choice."

He looked like she'd just kicked him in the gut. "But… how will you get the information about Death Eater movements?"

She shook her head and gave him a sad smile, removing her hand from his person. "Mort's active again. Something's… changed. We think you're going to be compromised soon, and Snape won't risk you anymore. Time to hang up your spy's cloak, Theo." She huffed at the irony of the situation. "And, Merlin knows, we could certainly use you right now on our side of the gate. You know more about the enemy and their bloody Council than any of us now, Snape included."

Theo considered what she said with some intense concentration and finally nodded. "You should know that within the next two weeks, Mort's planning on ordering the High Reeves of each county in the U.K. to execute any witch or wizard who won't kneel and take the Dark Mark directly." He looked at her with sad, piercing eyes. "Mort's ready to go after the insurrection finally. And first on his agenda is killing or turning all secret loyalists to you. Then, he's going to create groups of Snatchers to roam the streets twenty-four hours a day, and reinforce all of the checkpoints with at least one loyal Death Eater in addition to the local constabulary. No one will be able to travel from borough to borough, or city to city without the proper paperwork. MacNair just let all that slip today. I sent my Patronus with the news to Snape earlier tonight before meeting you."

Hermione did her best to cover up the shiver that worked its way up her spine. "He's going to force us out of the towns. That'll make it hard to get supplies. Thank the Queen, though, that there are plenty of commons still left on the islands that can decently hide us if we need to fall back." She glanced up at Nott's towering form. "And we know a thing or two about being incognito. I'm more worried about all those innocent lives. Not everyone's going to bow and scrape."

"I'm pretty sure after the first few dozen crucifixions, people will fall into line," Theo stated, his lip curling in disgust. "They brought back that particular brand of torture three months ago when they subjugated Aberdare, when rumors said the town was looking to overthrow the local magistrate. The Death Eaters nailed up over three hundred Muggles and two dozen witches and wizards along the main street and forbade anyone from taking down any of the bodies." He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "It was only the possibility of communicable disease that finally made the High Reeve of Wales relent two weeks later and let those poor people be buried properly. Luckily, I was sent to Ireland to look for possible traces of your group, otherwise I'd have had to participate." His eyes were looking off into the distance, his mind turning inward in what was obviously a terrorizing memory. He shuddered violently and again looked much older than his years. "But, MacNair did take me through the town the day before the bodies were removed – a 'special holiday,' he called it. Sick motherfucker." He shook his head. "The stench was worse than actually seeing the corpses, though. They'd ripened in the heat. You could smell 'em for five miles in any direction. MacNair just laughed, said the stink would remind 'em all forever what happens to blood-traitors and dissenters. He just fucking laughed while I puked my guts out." His face snapped back to the present as he locked eyes with her again, his whole body slumping against the wall in serious exhaustion. "To tell you the truth, Granger, I'm relieved I'm getting out. I'm tired of the evil the crawls all over me. Tired of the lies and killing. Just… bloody tired."

Just as she'd always been able to do, Hermione read between the lines and knew what her new teammate needed more than anything in that moment. She once more put a steady hand on Nott's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye, keeping her voice strong and reassuring. "Let's get a good night's sleep. No bad dreams. Tomorrow, we'll only focus on the mission. We're going to get our teammate and then all of us are going home together. No more 'lone wolf' shite. You've got family now." She plastered a grin to her face, forcing herself to sound cheerful and tapped him friendly-like with the same hand that rested on his warm body. "Besides, you have Pucey's cooking to look forward to back at camp. That boy whips up one hell of a good lobster stew and he makes a mean choco biscuit."

At first, Theo seemed a little taken aback by the sudden topic switch, but then he grinned back at her. "How's his coffee?" he joked as she moved away once more.

Hermione smirked. "Best this side of the equator."

"Merlin, what I wouldn't give for a good cup of coffee. I'm sick of British tea!" They shared a small laugh and Hermione knew that the emotional memory rollercoaster was over for the time being. They finished up their snack and saluted each other on the last sip of their herbal, and then Scourgify'd their mugs and prepared for bed. The couch folded out into a full-size mattress and after their nightly toilets, they extinguished the light in the room and huddled down on opposite sides of the bed, sharing blankets. Thanks to a warming charm, the room stayed cozy and Hermione fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

The next morning, they prepared for their Apparition to Stratford-On-Avon by checking their supplies and adding some of the various antitoxin and healing potions on the shelf to their charmed bags, just in case. She then went into the bathroom and transfigured her facial features and hair so as to be unrecognizable. Instead of a curly-haired brunette with sienna-colored eyes, she was now a sleek blonde with baby blues. The subtle changes were enough to throw off Theo when he took a gander at her, so she knew no one else would probably recognize her easily, if at all.

When they were both ready, Theo lead the way out of his safe house, sealing the entrance behind him with spells. She took his arm and he apparated them to Stratford-On-Avon, coming down the street from The Madam's House. In a back alley, he took her wand and her Bag of Holding from her, adding them to his own for safe keeping, and then he drew out a blindfold, which he tied snugly around Hermione's face. For an instant, she panicked – a natural reaction to the loss of one of the senses – but then she reminded herself to trust both her own impression of him and the recommendation from Snape and she relaxed. He cast _Incarcerous_ on her and bound her arms to her body with magical rope.

"You okay?" he whispered in her ear and Hermione nodded. "It's not too tight is it?" he asked concerned and she shook her head. "Right, so remember to pretend to be afraid and don't struggle too much. And make it look like you don't trust anyone, but you'd prefer to be mine alone. Otherwise, Phaedra will stick you in Gen-House and you'll be anyone's table-ender. And don't believe anything I say in there. It's all an act, Granger. Just remember that."

"Right, got it," Hermione nervously agreed, trying hard to quell the snakes sliding around in her guts. She forcibly calmed her breathing and allowed Theo to lead her on towards one of the most depraved, vilest lairs in the U.K.

After a short walk of a block or two, they stopped and Theo wrapped on a door. It opened to the smell of incense, clove fags, and sex. A bouncy, high-pitched female greeted them enthusiastically. "Hey, Theo! Long time no see, big boy." Hermione felt Theo's body shift as the woman – who obviously knew him intimately - hauled him in and she was dragged along behind. The door slammed shut and they were trapped inside now. No turning back. "Where ya been?"

Theo cleared his throat. "I've got business with your Mistress, Cindy. Can you send for her, please?"

There was a tsk-ing noise from the slag and then her voice became obnoxiously pouty. "Theo, don't you want to play first?"

She felt Theo shift again and this time, he jerked Hermione against his chest roughly. Her nose was pressed to his warm body and she gasped as she almost tripped over her feet. "Go tell Phaedra I'm here," he sneered angrily, his voice commanding and cruel. "_Now._"

"Right, I'm going," the girl yelped and her feet pattered away quickly. It sounded like she had passed through a beaded curtain on her way down a long, wooden hallway somewhere off to the left.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something and Theo placed a hand over her lips, preventing her from talking. "Silence, girl, or the first thing I'll do is spank you hard when I get you alone." His voice was that same cold, calculating tone, but the words were meant to clue her in to the fact that someone else was still in the room with them, although Hermione hadn't heard another person move around or talk at all. She realized then and there that she was just going to have to keep her mouth shut until the blindfold was off and all magical means of monitoring her were safely dispersed – or until Theo gave her a nudge to tell her that she could 'perform' her part as the frightened virgin.

After ten or so minutes, a steady, high heeled pace approached from the corridor that Cindy had disappeared down. This, then, must be Phaedra Parkinson, The Madam herself. As she approached, the overpowering scent of night blooming rose perfume wafted before her. The beaded curtain was parted to the snapping sound of small glass spheres clanking against each other, and the footsteps stopped a meter away from where she stood. "Ah, Theo," came a rich, sultry voice. "You've been missed around here. Oh, and you've brought me a new plaything. Excellent!"

"I'm giving her to you only to hold onto for me, Phaedra," Theo replied evenly, his voice formal and aloof. "I don't have a place to put her, but I want her for my own. And I don't want her in Gen-House. How much to store her here?"

The presence of the other woman came forward and touched Hermione's hair, running fingers through the ends. "Well, she'll be taking up one of my valuable rooms for only one client, Theo, so the price has to be adjusted to account for the lost revenue. Tell you what? It depends upon how pretty she is. Let me see her eyes before I decide," Phaedra stated, and Theo reluctantly removed the blindfold. "Look at me girl," she commanded Hermione, who had turned into Theo's chest to hide her features. Her friend's hand forcefully turned her head towards Mrs. Parkinson, tapping Hermione once on the back of her head to let her know that now would be the right time for her to start overreacting.

Really, it didn't take much acting skill. Hermione was truly terrified by the woman in front of her. Not so much by her presence, or her great, dark, lush beauty, but by the magical aura that slid off of her in waves and caressed Hermione's skin in a nauseating, but eliciting way. Phaedra was the very personification of sensuality; she made Fay 'feel' like a normal by comparison. As their eyes met, the power oozed off of the older witch and immediately, to her horror, Hermione felt her body go wet between the legs and she began trembling in earnest – not only in fear, but also in lust. This was the real power of a Sex-Witch.

Theo suddenly moaned and his arm pulled her closer. As their pelvises touched, she felt his manhood, hard and straining against his pants, pressed against her most intimate self. He bent his head and nuzzled her neck, breathing hard, trying to keep himself from doing more, clearly. Apparently, Phaedra's power was leaking all over him, too. With great will, Hermione forced herself to shut her eyes and to count sheep in her head, as she used to do as a child when she needed to get to sleep. It helped to dull the effects some, but her thighs were still slippery with her juices, and she rubbed them together to try to stop the ache that had taken up residence in her very core. The movement caused Theo to groan in desire and his arms tightened around her waist.

"Interesting," The Madam commented, and just like that, the power was terminated and Hermione sagged into Theo's chest. His arms held her up, but he was shaking the same as her.

His voice when he recovered enough to speak, was furious. "If you ever try that again on me or what is mine, I'll slaughter you and this whole fucking slag house, Phaedra," he hissed. With a wave of his fingers, The Madam gasped and fell to her knees. Theo was obviously using wandless, non-verbal magic on the woman to inflict pain. His eyes were enraged. "Do I make myself clear, bitch?"

There seemed to be a struggle of wills for a minute or so, and then Phaedra caved by bowing her head. "Perfectly, Death Eater," the woman's strained voice answered, and he let her go with another wave of his fingers. Struggling to her feet after several seconds of catching her breath, The Madam's face was carefully composed, but her eyes were burning irate. "You want to store your little whore here, Theo," she spat defiantly, "it's going to cost you 100 galleons a week."

"I'll pay you 80 and not a knut more. And she's only to be mine," Theo warned, pulling away from Hermione and stepping into Phaedra's face. From her view, she could see both of them as they turned to almost circle each other warily. Without warning, Theo's left hand snaked out as quick as lightning and grabbed Phaedra's hair, pulling back hard. She gasped, but her eyes and body said she liked what he was doing to her as she pressed herself into him. "No one else touches her but me. Understand?" As The Madam nodded quickly in acquiescence, Theo smirked, his face supremely arrogant, his eyes half-lidded in greedy carnality. "Good girl," he whispered then proceeded to kiss Phaedra like he was eating her mouth. The woman responded wantonly, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself to him, moaning at the same time.

For a minute, Hermione was terrified by the man in front of her. This was not the Theo she spent last night talking to; this was an evil Death Eater who enjoyed hurting and controlling others, apparently sexually as well as by other means. Had she made a critical mistake in her estimation of his intentions, or was this just a really well executed bit of showmanship? She bit her lip, wondering if she really could trust him or not, despite his earlier protestations for her to remember that he was only acting.

When Theo pulled out of the kiss, he looked down at Phaedra like a conquering warrior. "Get one of your girls to put her in a room by herself and get her situated, while you and me fuck for the rest of the afternoon." It wasn't a request.

The Madam all but purred in agreement. She snapped her fingers and the woman who had stood like a statue in the darkened corner of the room – the one Theo had been warning her about earlier when she'd had the blindfold on – came over to Hermione and took her by the arm. This was clearly a security guard, not a prostitute, as her looks were rather butch; she sported a short, man's style haircut, had a large, ragged knife wound ruining its way across her cheek and lips, and her eyes were as hard and lifeless as a golem. "Third floor, last room in the East Wing," Phaedra commanded, and then returned to kissing Theo.

As Hermione was led out, she tried to connect eyes with her male companion one last time to no avail; he was engrossed in his seduction of Mrs. Parkinson.

Passing through the beaded curtain and walking through the wooden hallway on the First Floor, she looked into every room she could, hoping to catch a glimpse of Fay or Astoria, but as she climbed the stairs up to the Second and then the Third Floors, she saw mostly closed doors, the sounds of creaking beds, moans, shouts, and even a few screams as whips came down on tender flesh coming from behind them. Nervous sweat beaded her upper lip by the time she'd hit what was to be her room for the next days or weeks.

The woman who had escorted her had a wand and she waved it over Hermione, cancelling the body binding spell around her. She was roughly shoved into the middle of the room, crashing into the bed, and then the door slammed shut behind her and she heard the magical enchantment to lock it tight from the other side. She was effectively trapped now and would have to wait until Theo came for her before she'd have access to her Bag of Holding and her wand. That was, _if_ he was trustworthy and came through for her. If not, there would be no hope for an escape, and she knew it. That was not something she wanted to contemplate at that very second. To take her mind off her niggling doubts, she looked about.

The room was relatively comfortable, maybe four meters x four meters, with a three meter ceiling. It contained a King sized bed that was made up with plain white sheets and two pillows, a small wooden dresser, and a standing mirror in the corner. There was no table, no chairs, no closet and no window. The only way in or out was the door that was locked behind her. Just great. And the fun just kept on coming.

Lying down on the bed, she decided to close her eyes and rest, hoping that Theo would come to her soon. She had to put her faith in what he'd told her before they'd arrived: that it was all play acting. Otherwise, she was so screwed.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

Hermione awoke sometime much later to the sound of someone opening her door. She stretched and yawned and rubbed her eyes to clear them. Her heart immediately started speeding up when she recognized one of the two faces that entered. The girl carrying the tray of food was an unknown, but the other… she'd never forget Pansy Parkinson's hard, pug-face.

"Put the tray on the dresser and go back to the kitchens," Pansy instructed the girl, her voice strangely gentle. The serving girl obeyed, and Pansy stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her, waving her wand over the room. "_Muffliato_," she whispered as the spell was cast, and then she turned her full attention to Hermione.

Even though she didn't have a face that Pansy could identify, Hermione still felt her heart skip a beat in her chest as they stared across the distance from each other silently for long minutes. Finally, it was Pansy who broke the ice.

"I know we never got on in school, Granger," the girl-turned-woman began and Hermione jumped nearly out of her skin in panic as she was recognized. "But I want you to know that I admire what you and Draco have been doing for years."

Hermione remained silent, deciding that this could all be a trap. It was always better to listen to how much the enemy knew before declaring your own intentions anyway - if at all. Warily, she watched Pansy as she crossed the room to the mirror and stared at her reflection while she revealed a most shocking truth.

"You should know, though, that you're not the only ones still fighting this war. My girls and I… we listen to the Death Eaters who come here, and we pass on the information we learn to Theo, who sends it on to Snape whenever we can safely do so." She looked up and their eyes locked in the reflection. Pansy's lips twisted in bitterness. "I suppose it shocks your prissy Gryffindor sensibilities to hear that we fuck the enemy to keep you safe, but there it is."

At this point, Hermione knew she had to say something. "Why?" This was always the simplest question to ask, but was never the simplest to answer.

She waited for Pansy to reply. The former Slytherin Princess did not. Instead, she turned and indicated the tray on the dresser. "You'd better keep your strength up, just in case. Theo will be here later tonight. I'll come back then." She turned towards the door, but stopped at the last second, her beautiful, tight-fitting, very short and slinky blue dress riding up as she threw something at Hermione. It bounced on the bed between them. "By the way, he palmed this to me on his way towards my mother's bedroom. He obviously wanted you to have it." With that, she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Hermione reached out tentatively and took up her Bag of Holding from where it lay across the white sheets, and reached in for her wand. It came into her summoned fingers as soon as she thought about it, and she gripped the wooden rod tightly, feeling instantly at ease as the familiar tingle of power rolled up her arm and sank down into her heart.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she weighed all she'd learned today, and one of her preconceived prejudices was blown out of the water as a result. Apparently, people weren't always who they appeared to be; this war had changed everyone. But what truth should she believe? She had trusted Fay, and she'd been burned. She trusted in Snape and Theo, and now Pansy, too – three former Slytherins. Would they prove themselves, or was this all one big, elaborate scheme designed to capture her? She shook her head, confused.

With a deep sigh, Hermione stood and crossed to the food tray, her rumbling stomach telling her it was time for some sustenance. She raised the peanut butter and banana sandwich to her lips, but before she took the first bite, she waved her wand over it to check for toxins and tampering potions. It came up clean.

Well, at least Pansy wasn't trying to poison her. Not yet at least.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**Author's Notes:**

**Gen-House = the 'general population area' of a prison**

**Table-ender = a person who has sex on the end of a table; a derogatory term for a loose woman**

**Clove fags = clove cigarettes **


	7. Ch 7: Our Hidden Selves

**Author's Note: **

**I've been doing a lot of soul searching on this piece for the last few weeks, and have decided to expound upon the secondary characters a bit more for you, which will help to move the plot towards its ultimate goals a lot better, I think. **

**As the story has stood thus far, it has been narrated by Hermione, as you know, but the truth is that I had always envisioned the plot as being multi-layered. For that reason, this chapter is dedicated to giving you, the reader, the opportunity to know how I perceive the lesser discussed characters in the H.P. universe (specifically as I see them in this alternate universe), as well as open up the plot a bit more for you (there are points in here that will come back later to haunt… muahahaha!). **

**...**

**SPOILERS, but if you want to see what all of my characters look like (how I envision them), check out this link: http:/ s905. Photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / To%20Begin%20Again**

**Remember to remove ****all**** blank spaces from that URL before you copy and paste it into your browser. That's the only way I can post links here, unfortunately, because of the way this site is designed.**

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**Chapter Seven: **_**Our Hidden Selves, Our Desperate Truths**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Saturday, September 2, 2000**

Neville was approaching behind her, his unique gait – the left leg dragging just a tad slower than the right as a result of the neurological damage he'd received - parting the tall grass with loud swishing against his pant legs. He stopped when his tall, lanky frame pressed directly against Penelope's back. She kept a trained eye on the skyline even when he bent his face to her neck and inhaled her scent deeply.

"Penny…"

His arms came around her waist with a sigh of growing desire. Her blood started pounding through her veins in response.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear sweetly and trailed light kisses down the shell, stopping to nip at the lobe.

Penelope's heart trembled. Neville's touch always had this effect on her.

Strangely, it still boggled her mind that someone as honorable and decent as he was could be desirous of someone like her, though. Her looks weren't at issue; analytically speaking, she was a woman of somewhat attractive features and body type (a bit too tall perhaps, coming in just under 1.8 meters, but her breasts and hips were rather well proportioned to the rest of her, and she rather liked her green-blue eyes and shoulder-length, light auburn hair). No, it was the person inside that she questioned regularly, and always found wanting.

For starters, Penelope knew she had a gruff and hard demeanor, and she purposefully didn't trust easily. Behaving like an iron-balls bint, speaking succinctly and bluntly – these allowed her to guard her heart effectively from getting too close and being hurt again (the exception to the rule being Neville, of course, who had managed to worm his way in). It was a good defense and coping strategy, but had the unfortunate side effect of also being the least likely to engender a warm reception. As Stretton once jokingly put it, she "rubbed people the wrong way."

Additionally, her past was nothing to be proud of. Specifically, during those shameful nine months after Percy's death and before she'd been taken in by the Captain, she had been involved in more than a few intentionally self-destructive one-night standers (which had always involved the over-imbibing of hard alcohol, the popping of irresponsibly brewed aphrodisiac potions, and engaging in risky sex with any man who showed interest and in any location – even back alleys or dirty bathroom stalls). She'd been bloody lucky not to have caught a STD, considering how stupid she'd behaved. Sadly, it had taken a miscarriage (unexpectedly happening in the toilet of some nasty, run-down pub in London – she couldn't even remember the name or location now, because she'd been so high that night) to give her the wake-up call she'd desperately needed. But one's past could not be denied when taking a person's character into account, and that three-quarters of a year of her life had irreversibly tainted her.

Simply put, Penelope Clearwater wasn't an easy woman to like overall, much less love.

Yet, Neville had observed and coaxed the truth from her about each and every one of her flaws over the past month and a half they had been together, and despite knowing every blemish, he _still_ loved and wanted her. He called her beautiful every morning and every time he joined his body to hers in bed. He worshipped her with every look, caress and word, and a part of her simply couldn't understand why. How had she obtained this profound adoration from such a worthy man?

Grabbing his damaged hand, she brought it to her lips for a soft kiss, and then rested it over her left breast, letting him feel how he physically affected her and in the doing, telling him how she felt about him back. So bonded were they by now – and amazingly in such a short amount of time - she knew he understood her gesture for what it represented. He kissed her fast beating pulse in acknowledgement, and she continued her vigilant watch, taking comfort from his presence.

After several silent moments between them, he finally broached the subject that had been worrying her since last night. "She'll be back soon, love," he murmured with conviction, intuitively understanding Penelope's anxiety and the reason why she'd punished herself with an extra three-hour watch duty last night. "Trust in Hermione. She's never let us down."

"It should have been me to go," she guiltily countered.

This, then, was the real poison that slowly had eaten away at her since the Captain's decision to go alone had been announced yesterday.

Behind her, she felt Neville tense up. He turned her around in his arms, forcing her to look at him by cupping her chin. "Hermione wanted to go, Penny. This was her choice. And you know why."

The lack of sleep from the night before, coupled with being so tense and hours of self-recriminatory dialogue in her head had worked her up into a right nervous anxiety which now exploded in an embittered rage. Penelope's normally hard-fought control melted in an instant, and with it, her tongue loosened and she found her voice once more. "It was _my_ duty to volunteer anyway! _I'm_ her Second! But I didn't say anything, did I? I let her go off alone, maybe to die!" Hateful tears filled her eyes, spilling over. Penelope _never_ cried in front of others, she _never _dropped her shield this much. She was the tough old guard, and her stoicism had been her only protection for many years. But in that moment, she felt less like herself than ever. That preexisting, menacing crack of self-doubt in her psyche was widening to dangerous proportions. "It's because I didn't want to leave you, Nev. I was afraid of what would happen to you if…" She shut her eyes in shame. "After everything the Captain has done for me since she took me in… You remember what I was like when I first came here... Even after all she's done to protect me, I couldn't do the same for her when it was time. I was a coward!" Her sobs were loud in the still morning air.

After letting her cry for a few minutes, her fiancée sighed deeply and finally replied to her heartfelt assertion. What he said shocked her to her core.

"I know it's selfish to say this, Penny, but even if you'd volunteered last night, I wouldn't have let you go. I would have gone behind your back to Hermione immediately and made her deny your request. I would have done it even knowing you'd hate me for the deceit later."

Her eyes widened at such a treacherous confession and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. "You wouldn't have _dared_," she whispered accusatorily horrified, even reading the truth of his words on his face.

He rested his forehead on hers and shut his eyes. "I _can't_ lose you, love. You're the only thing that keeps me in this world. I'd go mad like Sea if you were taken from me." He opened his eyes and they were hard with determination. "Believe me when I tell you that I'll dare _anything_ to keep you safe." To soften the blow of that declaration, he tenderly kissed her nose, her cheek, her lips. "Be disgusted with me if you want, Penny, but understand that from now on, I will not let you walk into danger without me at your side. And I don't feel guilty that you're here with me now, either." When he pulled back, he took her face between both hands, as she wrapped her arms around his waist and locked her teary gaze onto his. "Even saying that, I also know that Hermione wouldn't have let you take her place in the operation no matter what, Pen. Her decision would have been the same even if you'd stood up and waved a big, yellow flag right in her face. She wouldn't have taken you. This operation is personal for her. She went after Astoria for _him._"

There was no question who 'him' was to any of their core group. They all knew, but never spoke aloud, that Hermione was trapped in a deep, one-sided love with Malfoy, and they also understood that she would do anything to keep him and anything that was his safe. In this case, that included the child Astoria was carrying.

Oh, it had been obvious right from the time the announcement had been made that Greengrass' pregnancy was a result of her time trekking across Europe with their blond, enigmatic leader (one, because of his lack of reaction at the table when it had been announced, and two, because it would have been too early to know she'd been carrying if she'd hooked up with someone from the Romanian cell just a little over one short week ago). Penelope couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for the Captain to have learned the truth… She would have been crushed to discover Neville had fathered a child on someone.

"That still doesn't excuse my lack of action," she countered. "I did even make the offer to go. That was disloyal and spineless of me."

Neville shushed her by forcefully shaking her head once to shut her down. "Enough! You are _not_ disloyal and you are _not_ a coward," he reaffirmed. "You're the most devoted, bravest person I know, Penelope Lynn Clearwater. You are a good woman with a faithful heart, and I _won't_ have you talking nonsense, especially hurtful things about yourself that aren't true." He was firm, his face set, his light brown eyes glittering with fierce warning not to give him any of her usual guff over something this important.

When she didn't reply right away, mulling over his words, finding it hard to reconcile the picture he painted of her with her own internal misgivings, he grabbed the back of her hair a tad firmly and slowly tilted her neck back. With narrowed his eyes, he hovered his lips over hers. "Say you understand and agree, Penny," he growled low with a touch of menace.

She swallowed as she looked up at him through her long, sooty lashes. _This_ was the side of her fiancée that made Penelope's blood thrum excitedly through her veins. Usually, Neville was a caring, sympathetic supporting anchor with a gentle touch, and she adored him for it, for through these ways, he taught her how to be a more affectionate individual. But there were other times, especially when he needed to be reassured of her feelings, or when he needed to stand up and be heard, or when he needed to protect others, that he let slip a darker, more powerfully willed, more aggressively dominant side. She could feel his wizard energies crackling around them now as this hidden lion within – surely the reason he'd been sorted into Gryffindor House and not Hufflepuff – padded to the forefront of his personality with supreme confidence, and a touch of arrogance to boot.

As she stared into his obdurate gaze, Penelope instinctively grasped his reasons for allowing this part of himself out now, too: he was hoping to simultaneously bolster her self-esteem, ease her guilt, and help wipe away the self-pity party going on in her head by fervently indoctrinating his beliefs - that she was someone far greater than she believed herself to be - upon her.

At the end of the day, she could say without question that _this_ was why she loved Neville Longbottom.

She nodded in unspoken accord with him, and in reward, he dropped his mouth hungrily over her lips and feasted upon her. They kissed long and lingeringly.

When her patrol slot was replaced by the arrival of Viktor Krum soon after, Neville pulled her across the grassy meadow hurriedly, crossed over to their tent, and sealed them in for the afternoon. He then proceeded to make her reiterate that she had agreed with him again – this time out loud - before he would enter her body, that wicked side of him pinning her hips as he mounted her and stopped right at her entrance. He teased her by rubbing his length through her folds, battling her stubbornness with a patience that bordered on the insane, and ignoring her death glares, a sinful smile curling his lips the whole time. She finally gave in, dying for them to come together as one, and then screamed in pleasure when he thrust into her.

"You're so beautiful, Penny," he murmured against her lips as he began to move in her with a steady, strong rhythm. "So damned beautiful."

She bit her lip, tears coming to her eyes as they stared at each other across the centimeters. "I love you, Neville," she whispered, tears of joy escaping down her cheek. She entwined her hands around his neck and pulled him down to kiss him again. "I love you with all my heart."

They came together in a sweet release, and in the aftermath, Neville laid his cheek against hers, holding her tightly to him, murmuring words of love and promises of their future together in her ear. Lying in their rumpled cot, in her future husband's arms, Penelope's doubt-filled heart finally found some peace.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

Adrian awoke from a night of incredible sex with Anica and felt like a new man. The girl wasn't as experienced as Fay (she admitted to only having been with one other guy a few times, and from her lack of technique and initial shyness, Adrian knew she spoke true), but what she lacked in practiced skill she more than made up for in growing confidence and enthusiasm as the night had wore on. Thank Merlin his two 'roommates' – Willem and Jeremy – had been absent all night long (Bradley in a free-for-all poker tournament with Cadwallader, Wood, Arcos, Zabini, and Rickett until dawn, Stretton in on the game until his patrol shift earlier this morning). With them out of the picture, he'd been able to devote most of the night and into the early morning extracting moans and cute mewling noises from his little Bulgarian beauty without restraint.

He gazed on her sleeping form, snuggled down under the covers next to him, sharing his pillow. Her short, dark hair feathered across her pale cheek, her small hand rested in his, and she was breathing through slightly parted, bruised lips, and he thought to himself that he could get used to this. He wondered if she felt the same way.

He was just sitting up when Stretton sauntered into their shared tent. The guy took one look at the sleeping arrangements and tiptoed over to his cot. "Sorry, but I gotta catch some Zed's man," he whispered. "I took a double shift along with Clearwater. I'm beat."

Adrian nodded in understanding. "What time is it?" he murmured back, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake his bunkmate. The girl deserved her sleep after the paces he'd put her through last night.

Jeremy stepped out of his clothes and into a pair of comfy sweats and a tee. Meticulous in his handling of his personal things, the guy lined his shoes, wand, and pocket watch up in equidistant straight lines within easy reach of his cot. He folded his clothes, making sharp creases in the fabric. Only then did he check the time. "A little after eight," he whispered back, laying down and turning with his face to the tent wall, falling off into sleep quickly thereafter.

Adrian groaned. Eight o'clock! He was late with the bloody breakfast!

He gently tapped Anica on the shoulder and gave her a kiss in greeting before hurrying her back into her clothes (at the same time as he threw on whatever he could find in the rush) and hastening them both out the door. When they reached the main tent, they parted with another kiss and a promise to see each other later, and he scuttled inside to start the day's feast.

He stopped in the doorway upon seeing half of the poker party passed out either in chairs, on benches or on top of the dining table itself. Surrounding the inert, snoring bodies were many empty bottles of booze, ash trays filled with cigar butts, and a large pile of tipped playing cards. Talk about your all-night benders! Adrian almost regretted missing such fun… until he recalled that his night had _infinitely_ been the better trade-off, as _he'd _had a naked woman writhing underneath him. No need for ciggies and guy bonding over booze and a game of chance to achieve a state of relaxation when a good orgasm or two did the trick much better.

In any case, he had the perfect recipe for rousing hung-over rabble out of his kitchen space: he charmed all the sleeping niglets to feel imaginary creepy crawlies swarming around in their shorts.

After completing the rather simple, but unsophisticated jinx (one, he fondly reminisced, he hadn't used since his days at Hogwarts after more than one rowdy party in the Slytherin dorms), he made his way over to the cooking area. Reaching into the Dining Bag of Holding, he had just started pulling out ingredients when a chorus of groans and yelps resounded throughout the tent. He openly laughed at the spectacle of grown men groping their pants in panic and scurrying around in embarrassment. As the temporary spell wore off in seconds, there were a few tossed around threats of retribution and one "very funny, Pucey, you prick," exclamation (that from Willem). Adrian wasn't worried, though; he knew he was safe so long as he was the chef who kept everyone well fed.

Chuckling softly to himself, he set about preparing the meal, whistling while he worked.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

Blaise loved the ocean. As a very small child, he remembered standing on the warm, sunny, sandy beach looking over the seemingly endless blue-green Mediterranean and wondering what mysterious, secret places and people lay just over the horizon. He'd been tutored even then by one of the finest maestros in the region to know that there were other land masses outside of _Italia_ – places called countries and islands, where a vast array of cultures and people of varying colors and opinions lived – but as a five year old, he'd had absolutely no understanding of distances, or of traveling speeds, or of invisible, man-made, political boundaries that separated him from those locations and groups.

As a twenty-year old wizard living in the cold, rainy, gloomy U.K. for the better part of nine years, fighting in a seemingly futile, global war against the strongest Dark Magic alliance in the history of mankind, he now comprehended how far he'd come from the safety and innocence of his childhood fantasies.

He crossed his arms over his chest, bundling his woolen cloak tighter around his body, staring out at the freezing, purple waters before him. These Arctic waves and winds were a far cry from the warmer, brighter seas and currents of his old home, and Blaise felt a wave of nostalgia grip him. Had his father been executed yet for having a son loyal to the insurgents? Was his mother still secretly weaving her Black Widow spells and poisons through the ranks of Death Eaters to disrupt the _Organizzazione_ from gaining its full strength in his homeland? Were his three younger half-sisters safely in hiding at their ancestral villa in Piedmont, as they'd planned more than a year before, or had they finally fled for America?

He sighed, trying not to let the unknown distract him from sanity. Still, he found it difficult not to contemplate the fates of his family… or of _her_. Where was she? Was she safe? She had left so suddenly last night, and even though she'd been well prepared, Blaise still feared for her.

_Hermione, please be alive. _

He sighed at his own stupidity. Even if she were to come back to them, it wouldn't be his arms she fell into. He knew the score, knew who she had already given her heart to, and knew there was _no fucking way_ he would ever get in the middle of that, because Draco was his best friend.

So, instead, he did what he could to try to keep Hermione safe - and right now, that meant using that overly analytical brain of his to put the disjointed puzzle pieces together, and to help the camp figure out a plan of action alongside Snape and Malfoy.

For the twentieth time since yesterday, he asked himself the big question: why _would _Fay betray them as she had? What did she have to gain by doing so? He went back over everything he knew about the former Gryffindor Sex-Witch and the facts of their life since she'd arrived last year. Once more he found himself doubting. Something Granger had postulated as to Fay's abduction of Astoria just didn't add up, but he couldn't quite put his finger on the niggling uncertainty.

First and foremost, Fay had absolutely no reason to want to go back to servicing Death Eaters at The Madam's House, as she would most likely be abused on a regular basis. She had never enjoyed violence with her sex (playful spankings, the occasional light restraint and blindfolds were all she had allowed the guys in camp). If she returned to Parkinson's brothel, she'd be forced to endure being tied down roughly, viciously whipped, required to engage in orgies, would have spells that caused excruciating pain cast upon her, and she'd definitely be raped and humiliated on a regular basis… and that was the 'tame' stuff that could go on in such a place. Add to that the supplementary hazards of the job – possibly contracting a sexually transmitted disease and an 'accidental' death – and the cons definitely outweighed the pros for wanting to rejoin such a profession in such a place.

Second, the general routine and lifestyle under Phaedra wasn't glamorous enough to warrant anyone wanting to voluntarily return, either. The skimpy clothing each woman was given as part of her minimal wardrobe selection (when clothes were actually worn) weren't made of high quality materials, the food served to the working girls wasn't first rate, there were no outside privileges (the girls were relegated to their rooms and the bathrooms, and occasionally were allowed into the front entry as 'greeters'), any presents given by clients were taken away immediately (the working girls were forbidden to have personal possessions of their own, as they were seen as being nothing more than tools). A Sex-Witch was little more than a pleasure slave, really, and she lived in poverty and in fear for her life every day.

He'd learned all he could from Fay regarding her time under Phaedra Parkinson's thumb. He was, if nothing else, an inquisitive bloke, and one never knew when such information might come in handy.

Like now.

Given all that he knew of The Madam's House, either Fay returned to her former life with Astoria in tow under duress, or she was an evil, black-hearted strumpet who had fooled them all with superior acting abilities and was right now cashing in on something really grand in exchange for her traitorous services rendered in the Dark Lord's service. Or, perhaps the two had fled camp with another goal in mind and had been captured and brought to The Madam's House? That was a possibility none of them had considered yesterday around the table…

For not the first time, Blaise wished Granger would have let him use Legilimency on every new member who joined the group. Malfoy had pushed for the precaution, but Hermione was adamant that people's privacy be maintained. In this case, her stubborn Gryffindor set of morals might have cost them the life of Astoria, the baby the girl was carrying (which Blaise had figured out by astute observation was most likely Draco's), and possibly even Fay, herself (if the woman wasn't acting under her own will).

He ran his hand over his very short buzz cut – the same look he'd maintained since Sixth Year at school because it was easier to maintain while on the run – and sighed deeply. Even though he was disgusted with the thought that Fay might have been disloyal to them, Blaise hoped they were all wrong about her intentions, and that Astoria had simply fled with her best friend to find a way to get to America faster. It was the most optimistic possibility, if not very likely, but he would secretly wish it were true.

Turning, he made his way to the tent he shared with Malfoy. He was exhausted after spending the whole night up drinking, smoking cigars and playing pokers with the guys (a pastime he enjoyed to help him relax and to let his mind wander over outside possibilities; he did his best thinking during such times, ironically), and most of the morning here on the beach, contemplating problems. His patrol shift wasn't until later that afternoon, so he had at least five hours between now and then to catch some sleep. Since Draco hadn't put in an appearance at last night's game, he knew the guy would be up already, obviously having caught a good night's rest. He'd probably be strategizing with Snape for most of the day. That meant Blaise could look forward to some quiet, uninterrupted slumber in his tent.

And he was right. As soon as his head hit his pillow, he was dead to the world.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

It was with much trepidation that Willem crossed the open countryside towards Jeremy to discuss the theories that had been rolling around in his head during the previous night's poker game (and which had distracted him so often that he'd ended up losing his entire reserve of Opal Fruits). Finding Jeremy would be difficult for most people, but Willem had a sort of queer sense for locating the guy no matter where they were. His feet just sort of took him in the right direction always, so he moved with instinct, putting one foot in front of the other without question. He looked over to the left slightly and squinted. The sun was just then fiercely burning itself away once more in a final, futile clash with the encroaching night off towards his ten o'clock position (where directionally, it would be the west), and he knew (again by instinct) that by the time he actually reached wherever it was his friend was hiding, that the first stars would be twinkling through the twilight.

Leisurely, he glanced about to try to determine how far he'd already come across the field. Distances in the country were confusing to Willem, who had been raised in Crowthorne in Berkshire. Give him street signs and land markers, even in the midst of neatly rowed, nearly identical neighborhoods and he could tell you exactly how many kilometers or blocks you had to go to get where you needed to be. Out here, though, the only markers were the seemingly endless stretch of grass that dominated the landscape in front of their dark green, canvas tents, and the sandy beach and ocean behind their temporary fortifications.

Their three warded perimeters had been paced out by Jeremy at .4 km intervals, and the patrols were set at a comfortable distance out, still within sight of the tents, but far enough away that sound would not be disrupted by the goings-on in the camp. Jeremy, though, just had to be different from everyone else, of course. He took the watch at the very farthest edge, usually in a location that provided some cover. Today, he was within a quick run and duck from a gathering of large, gray and brown glacially-deposited boulders, squatting on one knee in the tall, gently waving grass. His dark head panned the scene before him in slow, precise movements, looking for signs of trouble far off in the distance. Willem approached as quietly as possible, but he knew Jeremy had known he was coming long ago; the guy's senses were incredibly alert.

"Hey, got a mo?" he quietly asked as he knelt down in a similar position at Jeremy's shoulder. His friend gave him a curt nod, his face never wavered from its scan of the horizon, however. It took Willem a second before he could work up the nerve to come right out and say what he wanted, but before he could even open his mouth, Stretton got to the heart of the matter, as usual.

"You don't think she was a spy either."

Willem tilted his head in wonder, and scratched a hand through his sandy blond, short hair. "How do you fucking _do_ that, man? I didn't even feel you in my head this time."

"You're getting better at it, though," Jeremy skirted the question with a compliment, as was his way. His light green eyes twinkled mischievously at the same time as his perfectly chiseled lips turned up at the corners in a small smile. The orange-red of the setting sun iridescently reflected off his irises in a creepy, cat-like manner, giving them a sort of shine, and not for the first time, Willem wondered if Jeremy wasn't secretly an Animagus.

"You're full of shite and you know it," Willem countered with a shake of his head. "I couldn't get through your head without knocking you out first."

The grin that shot up the side of Jeremy's face was positively wicked. "Maybe then you'd have your way with me, big guy."

Willem swallowed nervously and nudged away slightly, his face flaming with embarrassed, and Jeremy barked a sharp laugh, his lips twisting into a bitter smirk in an instant.

"Funny that a straight-up guy like you would be friends with someone like me, huh?"

Willem's cheeks bloomed with heat. They both knew Jeremy's predilection for the bi-sexual lifestyle. He'd also made it known a month ago that he'd been interested in a threesome with his best friend and Fay – and that included touching each other, not just the girl. But Willem wasn't sure if he wanted to cross that line ever. Did he find Jeremy a good mate? Abso-fucking-lutely. He was the best – loyal and fun and didn't pull punches. Was he good looking? Okay, yeah, he was _really_ attractive for a bloke. His features were mostly masculine; he had a square jaw, his very dark brown hair was cut in an extremely short buzz like Blaise's, a tiny wisp of a goatee strayed under his chin, and he sported high cheekbones. The defining features that captured Willem's attention, however, had been Jeremy's eyes and lips: he had seriously nice lips for a man, long, dark eyelashes, and eyes that were the color of spring grass, with flecks of light sunny yellow near the irises. He'd never known anyone to have eyes that color. Hell, Willem had never been attracted to guys before, but he had to admit that he was actually turned-on by his best friend's looks and his feline grace. Still, even knowing that, could he envision him and Jeremy kissing? Fucking? He blushed hot all over now, remembering his dreams of late. Sure he could. He already had. But those were just dreams, and they always made him uncomfortable as hell when he woke up.

Having been raised as a Muggle Protestant, Willem had been fighting a serious, internal moral dilemma regarding his feelings for Jeremy for the last year, and truthfully, his upbringing was the only thing that held him back from acting on his desires. He just wasn't _supposed_ to feel this way about his male best friend. It wasn't normal. It wasn't God's will. It was a sin.

As a child, he'd had no clue about his magical heritage. His Muggle mom had married his Half-blood wizard dad and converted him to Christianity before Willem had been born, convincing Mr. Bradley to give up his wand entirely. So it had been drilled into Willem's head from a very early age that homosexuality was evil and would lead to the Devil's control over his soul. Of course, he'd also heard the "Thou shalt not suffer a witch" (or wizard, in his case) quote enough times since he'd received his Hogwarts letter to realize that the Bible shouldn't necessarily be taken literally (ironically, his mother had divorced his father as soon as the owl arrived at their window, blaming her husband for the fact that their son had been born with "Satan's powers"; neither of them had heard from the woman since). And, of course, Willem had broken every single one of the Ten Commandments over the last three years, including The Big One: Thou Shall Not Kill. But in his own defense, they were in the middle of a bloody war and he was one of the 'good guys' trying to defend the weak and save the innocent, so he wasn't sure where his soul rated right now in terms of which direction he was going after death anyway. Basically, when it came to the topic of taboo ideas, he would be a bleeding hypocrite if he continued to view everything in terms of black and white. If there was one thing he had learned over the last three years, it was that shades of grey existed between the cracks and all ethics were situational.

But, he still wasn't sure if that meant that being attracted to Jeremy, that wanting to sexually be with him, was a forgivable transgression or not.

"I don't think Fay kidnapped Astoria either," his friend smoothly covered the awkward silence that had taken up the space between them, his face regaining its familiar mask of indifference. "She had too many reasons to hate the Death Eaters, and her life at The Madam's House had been bloody horrid." He turned his head to look Willem dead in the eye. "I scanned her in her sleep once."

Willem jerked back as if slapped. Everyone knew the Captain's take on using Legilimency without permission; it meant immediate expulsion from the camp. Of course, he'd never tell on Jeremy, but still… it was the principle of the thing.

Shit, had Jeremy scanned any of his dreams, especially those of late? God, he hoped not.

Jeremy turned his head to look fully over his shoulder and stood up abruptly. Willem followed his lead to see Sorin Arcos coming towards them from far down the hill. By the time the former Durmstrang student made the top of the incline, night had fallen.

"All clear," Jeremy stated coldly, and swiftly walked past Arcos without another word. Sorin watched him go with a frown on his dark, unshaven face.

It took Willem a few seconds before his feet engaged and he ran to catch up with his friend. "What was that about?" he asked when they were well out of earshot, confused by Stretton's behavior. Jeremy didn't reply, his eyes narrowed distrustfully, a frown marring his handsome face.

Willem wasn't really watching where they were going as they walked together in continued silence, more concerned with why Jeremy hadn't replied to his question and wondering if he'd done or said anything to upset his friend. It was a surprise to him to feel the height of the grass whipping past his abdomen, instead of just his thighs now. He stopped and looked around. He couldn't see the lights of the camp anywhere. Where the hell were they?

Jeremy stopped as well, his back to Willem. "I don't trust that guy," he stated firmly.

"What, Arcos?" Willem blinked. He'd never gotten a bad vibe off the younger kid.

"He blocks me out intentionally," Jeremy confessed again to the restricted use of Legilimency on one of their own. Stretton growled and grabbed a piece of grass, pulling it viciously apart. "He's not one of _ours_, Willem. He's an outsider." He turned to look at Willem over his shoulder. "Don't trust him."

"You did it again," Willem murmured, appalled and with growing ire. "You're reading me without my permission. I want you to stop doing that."

In three strides, Jeremy was in his face, snarling. "Why? So I won't know that you dream of me sucking you off and you wake up ashamed? Too late, Will. You broadcast that loud and clear every morning you're sporting a boner and practically run out of the tent when you look at me."

Willem blanched and leaned away. His friend was too close… too fucking close… His heart started pounding madly.

Jeremy's right hand reached between them and stroked his hip softly. "I don't need magic to know you want me, Will. All I have to do is this…" His fingers ran over Willem's crotch and instantly he was hard as a rock. He gasped and stepped back, shaking in part fear, part desire, eyes wide in shock. Jeremy stared angrily back at him across the half meter that had opened up between them, his right hand fisted at his side tightly, as if struggling over his temper. What was going on? Jeremy was never this out of control.

"I… we… shouldn't," Willem lamely stammered, stumbling over his thoughts and words, his blood streaming through his veins to settle heavily between his legs. "Don't do that again. I-it's wrong."

"Says who?" Jeremy countered, closing the gap between them with a simple, challenging step. He looked up at Will through those hauntingly long, dark lashes, his eyes again iridescent in the rising moonlight. No way were those eyes natural. He had to be an Animagus.

"I am," Jeremy admitted, answering Willem's unspoken concern.

Willem swallowed in fear. Jeremy had not only read his mind once more, but he'd just given him the one secret that could destroy him if it ever got out. Animagi were actively hunted by the Death Eaters under Lord Mort's personal command, and any who were captured, the rumors said, were dragged to The Fortress where Mort drained them of their powers for himself. He felt a stab of terror for his friend's safety. "What… are you… really?" he breathed, silently berating himself that his curiosity always seemed to get the better of him.

Jeremy smirked and raised an eyebrow. "It gets the better of both of us, I'm afraid," he whispered, referring to Will's curious interest, again skirting a question. His right hand unclenched and slowly stroked up Willem's left arm, smoothing over his muscular shoulder, caressing the back of his neck tantalizingly. At the same time, his left hand came to rest on Will's hip.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats they looked at each other, neither moving any closer, waiting. Will swallowed, scared shitless, unsure what the right thing to do was. He'd fantasized in the safety of his dreams about this, but going through with it was something else entirely. He was at a moral crossroads.

Jeremy made it easy for him. "Just once, Will. Try it. Let me kiss you." He leaned forward and tilted his head slightly up, his lips buzzing right over Willem's. "If you don't like it, we'll never do this again. Never talk about it. I'll let you go." He shuddered and shut his eyes. "Just please… let me know what you taste like. I've wanted to know for _so long_."

Willem's heart leapt into his throat and he started shaking. He wanted this. He really did… Shite, he was really going to do this, wasn't he? Would this mean he was gay? Would God think less of him?

_Will, you're a good man in your soul. You're willing to die to help others. If God made you to be that way, then He understands that this is who you are, too._

Jeremy's voice speaking to him in his mind was the push Willem needed to make his decision. "Okay," he surrendered with a nervous nod, trembling from head to toe. "I'll try. But, just… go slow. I'm still… not sure."

With a hum of excited anticipation, Jeremy nodded and closed the tiny gap and… _oh, Lord_… his lips were so soft and his tongue was perfectly sweet, and the kiss wasn't chaste by any means, but it wasn't blatantly sexual either. It was the kind of kiss you'd give to someone you loved. Willem was reeling. He moaned unconsciously at the exquisite feeling, lost himself in those few seconds in Jeremy as he returned the kiss hesitantly.

But it was over too soon for him. Jeremy was pulling away now.

_No!_, he thought, reaching out desperately to halt Jeremy from going away, knowing his friend was reading his mind, feeling that familiar pressure now behind his eyelids to confirm it. _Feels so good... Just a little more._

Jeremy moaned and nodded, never breaking contact, and as Willem's arms grabbed his hips and pulled him against him until their bodies – almost of equal height – were flush, their lips slanted hungrily over each other. They both groaned as the desire flared between them. They kissed for long minutes, savoring each other's flavors for the first time and reveling in the way they felt in each other's arms.

_We should stop right here, _Jeremy grudgingly admitted after a while in the vaults of Willem's mind, and he opened his eyes in surprise that Jeremy, who had been rather actively pursuing him for months, would suddenly make such a declaration. His friend was staring at him with those green-yellow cat eyes of his, continuing to kiss him slowly and thoroughly, as if reluctant to really do as he was thinking. _Shite… Will, seriously, you have to tell me to stop now or else I'm having you tonight all the way. And there's no going back for either of __us then.__ If I take you, it's forever. I won't give you up again. So tell me: what do you want to do? _

Willem's mind froze. Kissing was one thing, but copulating…? Could he? Should they? Would it be sinful?

_Yes_, Jeremy whispered seductively in his mind. _Oh, hell, yes it would be. And it would be fucking awesome._

Still, Will hesitated. He was terrified of what crossing this line would do to their friendship. He knew he could walk away now and they would be weird for a few days, but then things would settle back into resigned understanding, but his heart would be intact and his guilt minimal. But if they actually had sex tonight, how would they change? Could he handle looking Jeremy in the eye tomorrow? Would they end up regretting this and have it ruin their friendship? This time, Jeremy didn't answer, letting him grapple with his feelings alone.

After an eternity of thinking, he realized that tonight had been inevitable. He was drawn to Jeremy – had unconsciously been since his Fifth Year (it had been Jeremy's Seventh and final year, and yet, he'd walked away from his Quidditch Chaser slot rather nonchalantly just so Willem could have a shot at it). They hadn't spoken much to each other the entire time he'd been at Hogwarts, though; just passing greets and the occasional conversation when they ran into each other at parties around the castle. It wasn't until he'd joined Granger and Malfoy's small group of insurrectionists that he and Jeremy had clicked and become something more than passing acquaintances from the same House. They'd discovered a fondness for quoting Muggle movie and television lines, and that had been enough for them to forge a tentative friendship at first. Over the intervening year and a half, they'd evolved, becoming best friends. The night they'd talked quietly in the darkness of their shared tent, a meter away from each other, and Jeremy had rolled onto his side and bluntly proposed that they share Fay in a threesome, everything had changed for Willem then. His feelings for Jeremy had evolved yet again, and the line that had been clearly drawn in the sand between them had suddenly blurred. That was the night he'd had his first wet dream about his best friend.

But, how long ago had it been since Jeremy had noticed him like that? A little longer, perhaps, since he'd been the one who'd made the offer to get naked together first…

_I wanted you the day you tried out for the Quidditch team, Will. I liked your determination, and you have always had a killer body. I watched you a lot after that, but you were too young, and you didn't seem to be interested in guys. Then the war came and I didn't see you again for over a year and a half. But I never stopped thinking about you, Will. When you finally came to us out of the blue, after all those months of wondering what happened to you, I knew..._

This talking in his mind thing was disconcerting. Willem had never done this before with anyone and, frankly, it was a little weird.

_Why would you think that?_

Willem shook his head and pulled his lips away a bit. "Because-" he tried to explain in between being kissed. "It's not bloody natural."

_Who's to say what's natural and what's not? _

He felt Jeremy's teasing grin against his lips.

_And you still haven't answered my question, Will. I need to know. Do you want us to go further tonight or do we stop and say goodbye right here? Make up your mind already. It's getting harder for me to be able to walk away from you._

The pressure to make a decision weighed greatly on Will. He wanted Jeremy. They shared a unique bond, not just as friends, but something deeper that had always existed under the surface once they'd come together again as adult men.

Would he regret this in the morning?

He hoped the fuck not.

With that, he threw that screeching voice of his sanctimonious, Bible-beating mother that resided in the back of his subconscious out the window and gave himself over to the pleasures he knew he would find tonight with his best friend. _Yes, I want this. I want you. Don't stop, Jeremy._

He was rewarded for his acquiescence with a blazing kiss, and Willem discovered very quickly that Jeremy Stretton had a magical tongue; he used that pink bundle of flesh and his hands and his animal eyes to thoroughly seduce Willem in a very short amount of time. All too soon, his cries mingled with Jeremy's as their hot flesh came together within the seclusion of the tall grass, a spell to silence and hide their illicit affair from prying eyes cast over them for privacy. Their fucking was everything Willem had ever dreamed it would be, and then some.

It was only afterwards, however, that the problems arose, just as he'd feared - but not from the reasons which he had assumed in advance. It wasn't his Christian guilt for committing a sin that tore them apart emotionally. It was the fact that aside from being an unregistered Animagus, Jeremy Stretton was also secretly half-Vampire, and he had willfully fed on Will that night during their first coupling, irrevocably binding them together with his magic without Willem's understanding of the agreement he had made when he'd surrender himself up. Willem was, for all intents and purposes, now kept by Jeremy as some sort of reserve food and sex source, and being used in such a fashion did not sit well with Willem. It had further been revealed in their ensuing confrontation in the aftermath of their love making, that Jeremy had fed from him before, back when they'd been in school together, but he had Obliviated his memories of that time and kept the secret from Willem all these years. So it was that Willem began to doubt everything Jeremy had ever done or said to him over all the time they had known each other. Had their friendship been nothing more than a plot to get him into Jeremy's bed? He just couldn't tell what was true and what was false anymore, because Jeremy's mind magic had messed with his head one too many times.

The betrayal of such an important trust weighed _heavily _on Will's heart, all the more so because somehow, over the course of that one night, he'd fallen in love with his bloodsucking, manipulative best friend. Try as he might (even going so far as to move out of their shared tent and making other sleeping arrangements, and requesting he not be put on patrols at the same time as his… lover… ever again), Willem could not stop wanting Jeremy. He was tortured by the memory of their one night together, and by the words Jeremy had spoken to him in the quiet of his mind when he knew Willem was struggling to leave him:

"_I love you, Will. I have loved you for years. And I will love you until you die, and even after. No one else but you."_

God, save him, Willem bemoaned a thousand times in his mind over the next few days, but he'd done exactly what his bitch mother had said he always would: he'd become a slave to the Devil himself!

* * *

_**To Be Continued…**_


	8. Ch 7 ASIDE: William & Jeremy

**AUTHOR'S NOTES – PLEASE READ!: **

**This extra side story the sex-love scene between Willem Bradley and Jeremy Stretton that was edited out of Chapter 7 (it also contains the revelation of Jeremy's Animagus and half-Vampire self to Will, the details of their first bloodletting/marking, and the foreshadowing of a plot device that will be slowly revealed over future chapters). **

**WARNING: VERY SEXUALLY GRAPHIC!**

**You can consider this scene FAN SERVICE, if you want, as I hadn't intended upon including graphic slash in this story initially. I hope you enjoy it, if you choose to read it. Please leave me feedback if you do, as I'd love to hear what you think of my first attempt at writing male gay yummy smut.**

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**Chapter 7 ASIDE: **_**Willem and Jeremy**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Saturday, September 2, 2000**

Willem shuddered as Jeremy playfully thrust his tongue between his lips, then withdrew to trace the edges of his mouth. When he opened up again for him, his best friend ran across his teeth and the roof of his mouth, sampling every crevice of Will's mouth deliciously.

Inside his soul, he felt an odd spark of life. Something buried deep inside of him stirred in response to Jeremy's kiss.

So enamored with what Jeremy's mouth and tongue were doing to him, Will barely registered the man's naughty hands sliding down the plane of his torso until he touched his erection. Will unconsciously bucked his hips as his new lover began running with some small amount of pressure up and down his length, then further south to cup his balls through his trousers. Bloody hell, that felt so good! He'd always loved it when Fay touched him like this, but he'd been too unsure of not coming prematurely with her, so he'd never really let her take too much time exploring him. Foreplay was quick so they could get to the fucking, and the sex was quick so he could come without embarrassing himself. Would it be the same with Jeremy? He didn't want to ruin anything by being a two-pump chump.

Laughter rang out in his head. _Will, are you fucking kidding me? I would love it if you came from just me touching you._

And with that, he began unbuckling Willem's belt. When it was undone, he unbuttoned and then unzipped him, and with no preamble, he dove his fingers right in, running his hand over Will's black cotton boxer-briefs.

Will moaned and broke the kiss, tilting his head back. "Fuck," he whispered in awe at the feeling of raw lust coursing through his veins.

Jeremy chuckled evilly. "Not yet. But soon."

His black, long-sleeved thermal shirt was lifted off his abdomen and dragged up over his head, then tossed to the grass below. He started shivering in the cold, autumnal air, goose bumps prickling his flesh all up and down his exposed torso and arms. Seeing the reaction, Jeremy quickly grabbed his wand from the inside of his robes and waved it in the air around them, speaking the charm for a warming bubble. He then silenced the bubble and spoke another charm Willem didn't know.

"No one can see us or hear us now," Jeremy reassured him, dropping his wand to the crumpled grass at his feet, and removing his robes. He spread them on the ground so they could lay comfortably down when it was time… And just as that thought hit, the cold, twisting fear gripped his guts again. What the hell was he doing? Jeremy was his best friend, for Christ's sakes! This was going to ruin everything between them if they did this!

"No, it won't," Jeremy firmly insisted, and grabbing the back of Will's head, he pulled him forcefully down to lay another hungry kiss on him. His tongue conquered him once more, pulling him back into the haze of desire and need, making his reservations melt away with every pull of his soft lips.

_Don't think anymore. Just let me fuck you good._

Mindlessly, Will nodded to the command, feeling fuzzy around the edges. It was like he was drunk on Jeremy's kisses; he actually _whined_ when the other man's mouth left his. Those fiery lips latched onto his throat and began nipping his pulse instead, tonguing the length of Willem's neck to his ear, where they licked and suckled on his earlobe. Will moaned and pulled Jeremy to him again, and he buried his nose against his lover's neck and began pressing his own kisses to any exposed skin nearby.

Jeremy pulled back and ran his mouth down over his nipples, latching on. He tweaked both of them into tight buds as he gave equal attention to them both back and forth, all the while, his hands worked Will's pants off his hips, letting them fall to the ground. His head dipped lower to the rippled abs, running his tongue over each crease of Will's six-pack, dipping into his bellybutton.

Will's head fell backwards again to loll on his shoulders and he moaned and gasped loudly, his hands caressing Jeremy's shoulders.

He startled when Jeremy pulled his boxers off of him with a quick yank and then wrapped his hand around the long, thick, painfully straining length. Pre-cum shot out of the slit on his crown immediately as Jeremy's thumb swiped over it, and it dribbled down, creating slippery friction as his best friend began moving his hand up and down in a firm, tight rhythm. He returned his mouth to Will's lips and thrust his tongue in time to his hand movements.

_Do you feel how good it is between us, Will? _

Will nodded, kissing Jeremy back in wild abandon now, his hand grabbing the other man's shirt and tightly fisting it. _If you keep going, I'm going to come soon._

Another wicked snicker escaped Jeremy's mouth. _I'll stop when you tell me what would you like me to do to you tonight. _

Will felt the blush ride up his face hot. _He_ knew in the fantasies of his mind what he wanted his best friend to do to him, but try as he might, he couldn't say or even think the words. So, instead, he threw out an image of one of his most recent dreams, hoping Jeremy could see it clearly.

_Mmmm… Sexy. But Will, if you want me to suck your cock, you're going to have to ask me to do it._

Will swallowed hard and drew out of the kiss to look down into Jeremy's eyes. His heart slammed under his ribs and his mouth grew as dry as a desert. "Will you-" He stopped, swallowed hard again. "Will you take me in your mouth? Please."

Dark eyebrows shot up in amusement. "How could I say no to such a politely phrased request?" Jeremy teased and dropped to his knees, gripping his tight. _You're so big, Will. I'm not sure I'll be able to take you all in. _

Will looked down to watch as his penis slid into his lover's mouth a centimeter at a time. _You've done this before, haven't you?_ he asked, feeling a flash of jealousy surge through him.

Jeremy wrapped his lips around Will's cock, looked up at him and pulled back with strong suction, his tongue caressing the veins at the bottom of the shaft and making Will jerk and gasp in response. With that one display, he had answered the question; such expert technique made it obvious that Jeremy had, in fact, sucked some other guy off before.

_In school, seventh year, with only one other,_ he heard in his head. _I told you I was involved with someone then. He and I were very discreet though, and it only lasted until the war started. I've only been with women since._

When his mouth slid back down Will's shaft, the question of his best friend's past dating habits suddenly didn't matter anymore. All of Will's nerves tingled alive, and all he could think about was how good he felt. His hands came up to hold onto Jeremy's head, rubbing against his soft buzzed hair and caressing his face. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth at the exquisite feelings. Only Fay had ever made him feel this good before.

_Look at me, Will!_

Jeremy's voice barking in anger at him tore through the haze of pleasure. Will looked down in surprise as his lover's tongue twined around his crown, dipping in and out of the slit at the tip.

_This is _me_ doing this to you. Stop thinking of other people._

Was Jeremy jealous of Fay's memory?

_But you wanted us to be together with her,_ he protested, not understanding why that scenario would be a bad thing now. _Or did you just make that up?_

Jeremy's half-slitted eyes stared up at him with resentment. _No, I wanted that. But right now, you're with me, and __I'm__ the one you're fucking tonight, Will. No one else. Got it?_

To make his point, he deep throated Willem, swallowing his staff all the way to the end. Although it felt absolutely heavenly, Will knew it had to be hurting Jeremy to go that far down given his length and girth, so he quickly eased himself back until he was completely released, his cock bobbing in the air between them, and touched the other man's face gently. When Jeremy looked up, the anger still marked his face, but now Will understood that it masked hurt as well. "I'm sorry," he softly apologized, feeling guilty for being so clumsy and stupid. "This is all so new to me still." He took Jeremy's face in between his large hands. "But I know I'm with you." He gave a surrendering smile. "Believe me, I know it. I've been dreaming of this for months, and now that it's happening… But I'm a little confused still about what's the right thing to say or think. I'm sorry."

Jeremy looked up at him through intensely measuring eyes and then he reached up and yanked on Will's arms, dragging him down on top of the cloak he'd laid out earlier. With his feet tangled up in his pants and shorts, and still wearing his combat boots, Will easily became his willing prisoner to the new position. He lay back as Jeremy crawled over his big body and stared down at him with naked lust. "Take my shirt off for me," he commanded. "Touch me."

Will eagerly complied, and with Jeremy's shirt tossed to the side, he ran his hands over the leanly muscled, bare skin. The only hair Jeremy had on his torso was a small, dark trail going from his bellybutton down the front of his pants. Will's fingers followed the line and unbuttoned then unzipped the dark brown, cammies, hurriedly pushing them off.

Jeremy laughed as he leaned down to kiss again. _Can't wait to get inside me?_

Groaning, Will nodded, and his mouth voraciously ate at his lover's. The image of a dream he'd had of Jeremy writhing and crying out under him almost made him come right there. He projected the thought freely and it made the other man's body react, his nipples hardening against Will's fingers as soon as he brushed across them.

_Oh, fuck, yeah. We're going to do that at some point. I'm gonna give you all your dreams._

Cupping Jeremy's head to him and gripping his hip, Will rolled them over so that Jeremy was now on the bottom. He disentangled their limbs and stood up quickly, removing his ensnared clothes and boots, until he was finally, completely naked. Dropping back down between Jeremy's legs, he turned the tables on his best friend, running his mouth over his golden skinned chest, following the path down his abdomen, and all the while, ripping at his half-undone pants and boxers, yanking them off.

_You have to get my shoes off me first._

Jeremy laughed in his head, and Will rushed to do as bid, throwing clothes haphazardly in any direction.

When he had his partner naked, Will looked up the long line of his delicious-looking body, cataloguing every inch. Jeremy was all powerful, sleek muscle, just like a cat, with not an inch of fat on him anywhere. His cock was not as thick as Will's, but nearly as long, and the head was fat and already glistening with pre-ejaculate. Jeremy gripped himself and began stroking slowly up and down, his eyes latched onto Will's with intensity. _I want to suck you,_ Will thought, crawling slowly towards his destination, stopping just above Jeremy's hand. _I've never done this before. Will you tell me how to do it right?_

Jeremy nodded, a smile parting his lips. _Start by kissing the tip._

Will followed Jeremy's instructions to the letter. He kissed, then frenched his lover's crest. He ran his tongue all along the ridge underneath, and followed the path down the shaft to the end, and back up. He opened his mouth, relaxed his jaw and tongue and with Jeremy's hand on the back of his head, he slowly lowered his face, taking that beautiful cock into his mouth for the first time. It was salty, and the flesh was solid, but also silken soft. He went down until he couldn't go any further, then he pulled back up, sucking hard as he went, just as Jeremy coached. His friend groaned deep in his throat at the sensation.

_For someone who's never done this before, you've got the technique down already. Try swirling your tongue in different patterns when you come back up, and each time you go down, see if you can take a little more in. Just relax your throat and jaw._

A fast learner, Will soon had Jeremy panting and tensing all his lower abdominal muscles. It was amazing to watch his skin flush with blood, to hear him call out Will's name in small mewling noises and gasps.

_I'm gonna come! Pull away!_

Will shook his head and kept up his seduction, wanting to know how Jeremy tasted.

_You don't have to… Fuck, Will, you don't have to swallow. Just- Oh, hell! Will, I'm coming!_

Will opened his eyes to watch Jeremy orgasm for the first time, lowering his head as far as he could go down his lover's shaft. He relaxed all his jaw muscles and swirled his tongue around the salty skin, tickling the root with his tongue. That pushed the other man over the edge. With a loud shout, Jeremy's eyes scrunched up, his hips stilled, his balls pulsed and Will tasted a hot squirt of salty semen shoot into the back of his throat, followed by another and another and another.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Jeremy screamed, his body orgasming powerfully, refusing to let him relax for a good ten or more seconds.

Will quickly swallowed as much of the hot, salty fluid as he could, trying to capture every drop, memorizing every sight, touch, smell, taste and sound of this moment so he would never forget how wonderful it was. He had brought someone to pleasure with his mouth for the first time ever.

Jeremy's eyes snapped opened unexpectedly. "You mean," he panted as Will's mouth released his cock with a last kiss. "You've never eaten a woman out before?"

Willem swallowed again, blushed and looked away. Slowly, he shook his head. "I've only ever just fucked."

Wincing, Jeremy sat up and took Will's face in his hands. "Has anyone ever sucked you off but me?"

_No._

"Holy shite."

Jeremy looked at him like he was seeing Will for the first time, and suddenly, all of his old fears returned to the forefront. Will knew he wasn't really a very good lover. He hadn't lost his virginity until the summer after Hogwarts had fallen (he'd fucked some cute blonde in the back storeroom of the Manchester Selfridges and it had lasted all of three minutes). He'd been with two other girls after that – his Muggle next door neighbor's seventeen year old daughter a couple of times, and Fay. His experience was limited and he'd never actually taken the time to learn how to please a partner (although Fay had tried, he'd been too embarrassed to admit he needed her help). Fucking for him had been all about the quick release, and then back to the war effort. Now, he wished seriously that he'd asked someone to teach him the ropes sooner.

Jeremy's mouth on his drew him out of his thoughts.

_I'll teach you._

They lay back down while kissing, their naked bodies pressed together, Will lying over the top of Jeremy, bracing himself on his elbows. He couldn't stop himself from fanning his fingertips over Jeremy's cheeks softly as their tongues entwined, their lips savoring each other sweetly. Their dicks were touching, rubbing against each other, and the thought alone made Will so hard he hurt. He loved the feel of this beautiful man wanting him.

_You're amazing, Will. I've never known anyone like you._

Within twenty minutes, Will felt the change overtake Jeremy. They went from loving, gentle touching and tonguing to lustful thrusting and grasping. Jeremy's pelvis rubbed against his, and his cock was hard again. _I want to suck you again, Will, and this time, you're going to come in my mouth. Then, I'm going to fuck you. _

Numbly obeying, Will allowed himself to be pushed up on his knees and Jeremy followed. His dark head dipped down, and then he felt his length once more enveloped in wet warmth. His friend's tongue caressed him all up and down while he sucked hard on every up stroke. His hand moved right along with his head.

_Look down and watch, Will._

He obeyed his lover, watching his cock sink into Jeremy's mouth as he adjusted and moved back and forth instead of up and down. Will almost lost it right there, resisting the urge to grab Jeremy's head and shove him over his shaft fast and hard.

_Thrust your hips if you want._

He did, gently, and it was… Oh, Merlin, he was fucking Jeremy's mouth and it felt _so bloody good_. The fire built up in his balls fast and his penis jerked continually. When he felt teeth nipping at his crown, a tongue wriggling down the slit, and a finger pressing against that one spot right underneath his balls, he thought he would die. _Christ, don't stop! _Jeremy lathered up the fingers of one hand, and traded off with the other, seeking out that spot and rubbing it. Will moaned, and his heart sped up along with his breathing. He was close…

A finger probed his anus and Willem started, jerking his hips forward hard. Jeremy didn't seem to mind; he moaned in fact and continued pushing his slicked finger up and into Will's hole. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but after a few rhythmic thrusts in and out, he spread his legs, enjoying this new sensation. When a second finger joined, it was a little more painful, though.

_Relax, unclench, and feel._

He willed his body into doing as Jeremy directed, trusting him. After several seconds and more passes, the tight pressure in his arse started to bloom into pleasure. A third finger hedged its way up to join the other two, and Will's body moved of its own accord, his hips jerking in time to Jeremy's mouth movements, which matched his fingers.

When Jeremy's free hand moved to take over the spot recently vacated over his shaft, and his fingers tightened around him, Will knew he was going to spill over any second. _Suck a little harder, Jeremy… Oh, God! I'm going to come in your mouth! I'm… JEREMY! _The fire roared through him, up his shaft and out into his lover's mouth. He shoved unwittingly as deep as he could go and felt the muscles of Jeremy's throat tighten around him as he came. The orgasm just kept going, too. He flooded his best friend's mouth, literally, with his come. Jeremy drank it all down, moaning, clearly enjoying the taste.

Will collapsed onto his haunches and Jeremy let him go with a popping noise. His eyes were glassy with need when he finally looked up, but Will had no mind at the moment to do anything other than attempt to regain his breath.

He willingly let himself be moved and repositioned on the ground, noticing he was laying on his stomach across Jeremy's robes, but it wasn't until his legs were spread apart and his hips adjusted up and Jeremy's cock pressed at his back entrance that Will's sanity returned. He felt something warm and wet slathered across his hole, and as he looked over his shoulder, he saw Jeremy spitting into his hand and rubbing his saliva all over his fully erect cock. He watched in detached amazement as his lover gripped his rod in one hand, leaned over and mounted him.

_Widen your legs a little more for me, Will. Tilt your hips up a bit. Excellent._

He felt a painful pressure as Jeremy inserted his cock and pushed forward a few centimeters until his crown was fully buried. He backed off a little, moved forward again and then pulled out once more to let Will adjust, and then with one almost brutal thrust, he was opened up fully. Will hissed in pain and Jeremy froze, gripping his hips tightly to prevent him from pulling away.

_Relax. You'll adjust quicker if you just relax your muscles and stop clenching up. Breathe._

Will tried to do as asked, but the pain was incredible. But of course it would be; he'd just lost his anal cherry. Now he knew how girls felt. Behind him, Jeremy pulled slightly out again, which stung, and slowly he pushed back in. He spit again into his hand and rubbed the saliva all over his shaft as he pulled back, then he thrust back in. He did this several more times until the gliding became easier and Will relaxed, starting to feel more pleasure than pain from the act. When this shift happened, he moaned and Jeremy started to pump into him a little faster.

_Feel good now?_

Will nodded. _Yes. It's making me want you again. I'm getting hard._

_You'll have me, Will. But right now,__l__et __me fuck you. I've waited a long time to do this with you._

Will was quickly losing his cool as the heat built back up between his legs. He tilted his hips up a little more, and this gave Jeremy the opportunity to bury himself all the way to the hilt in him. They both gasped at the exquisite sensation. After a few more passes in and out, Jeremy lay down on top of Will's back, changing the angle, pinning his hips flush against the cloak. His friend nuzzled the back of his neck, then sucked, then bit. The biting became harder, and then he felt something… different. Jeremy's teeth were definitely sharper, they scraped and pinched as they moved across the thin skin of his throat. "What are you doing?" Will asked, shaking off his lustful daze to try to regain some sanity. Something Jeremy was doing was… well, it was frightfully _wrong_, his instincts screamed.

"Sharing myself with you," Jeremy replied matter-of-factly. "And marking you as mine."

Will shuddered, the "fight-or-flight" kicking in automatically, and in a heartbeat, fear replaced desire in the pit of his stomach. He tried to push up, then to roll in either direction, but the angle Jeremy held him down on wouldn't allow any action, and his strength was incredible. "Stop. Don't! Let me up."

Jeremy shook his head. His voice was thick with need. "Too late, Will." He thrust into him again and again, kept fucking him even as he murmured in his ear smolderingly. "You said yes to letting me have you. I gave you the choice. I told you that if we did this, I wouldn't give you up ever again. I meant that. I can't let you go. I've wanted you like this for too long, and I've missed tasting your sweet, sweet blood. Now you're mine for always." With that, two sharp teeth pierced the artery in his neck, making Will cry out from the excruciating pain.

The spark in Will's soul that had lit upon their first kiss had expanded, ignited. Electric shocks traveled from the center of his being up and down his spine, swirled in his abdomen, tingled through his cock and testes. His gums felt suddenly swollen and hot. The muscles of his shoulder blades ached. He screamed.

What was happening to him?

Jeremy began sucking down the blood that seeped out through the puncture wounds, his tongue lapping at the same time as his throat convulsed with each swallow... and the pain he'd been experiencing abruptly abated as his friend drank from his vein.

Sanity returning, it all made sense to Will in that moment: Jer's strength, his speed, his heightened senses, his ability to use Legilimency without a wand and to forge connections in the mind with others, his willingness to kill so easily…

_Oh my God, you're a Vampire!_

Jeremy moaned, swiping his tongue in a strange pattern across the wound he had opened up and suddenly Willem's blood was inflamed - not with pain this time, but uncontrollable lust. His cock grew hot and so hard that it _hurt_, and his mind was filled with nothing but sexual craving for Jeremy. His whimpers in protest transformed in an instant into shouted pleas for Jeremy to take him deeper, faster. The bite of the Vampire made him desire his friend more than he'd ever thought possible.

_Fuck me, Jeremy! Fuck me hard! Don't ever stop fucking me!_

_I don't plan to, Will. I'm going to do this to you again and again for the rest of your life. And once Fay joins us, we'll be a powerful ménage a trois: a Sex-Witch, a Vampire Animagus and a Battle Warlock. We'll be strong enough to keep Mort and his Death Eaters away from us forever. I can protect you this way._

Will heard the words, but barely registered them at that moment, so enthralled was he with the feeling of Jeremy's cock grinding between his legs, splitting him open over and over, filling him up and bringing him to the brink. Every time he bumped into that one spot in the back, every nerve in his body flared up.

When Jeremy had taken his fill of blood, he swiped his tongue again across Will's throat, closing the puncture wounds, making them disappeared entirely. He then sat back on his knees, grabbed Willem's hips, tilting them up again, and began ramming himself into him hard and fast. Bracing himself on his palms, Will did a little push-up of his upper body with an easy flexing of his biceps, and he pulled his chest and face off of the cloak entirely. He was in a half-doggy position, his face close to the ground, but not on it, and enjoying every second of being bareback dominated in such a way. With every thrust by his lover, his face shoved forward and he moaned raucously, uncaring if anyone heard his pleasure. Being fucked by Jeremy was abso-bloody-lutely the most wonderful feeling he'd ever known and he was incapable of restraint. He _desperately_ needed release

Bracing himself on one arm, Will reached between his legs, and began pumping his cock up and down, matching his strokes to those of Jeremy's behind him. It didn't take long – a dozen or so passes and he tightened up as he felt that combustive inferno shooting through his loins, pulling his balls up tight into him at the same moment. Yelling Jeremy's name, he came shooting his seed out in wide arcs. Golden sparks ignited behind his eyelids. He cupped his crown with his fingers to try to stem the violent eruption and instead it flowed all down his hand in rivulets. He continued to pump a few more times once the initial stream had waned, wanting to wring every last drop out. His body shuddered on and on for another ten seconds even then, spurting more come all over the place, soaking Jeremy's dark cloak underneath them.

_Oh, gods, I'm coming in you, Will! _

With a loud shout of his lover's name on the sweltering air inside the bubble, Jeremy exploded. Will felt the hot spurt of his lover's semen slam into his clenching, ridged walls and it burned him up. The orgasm continued for many more shoves and grunts, and Willem could feel Jeremy's come dripping out of him to coat his balls even though he was still deeply sealed inside and pushing, ejecting more jizz by the second.

When Jeremy's climax finally rolled over and past him, he leaned forward again and rested his head on Will's shoulder, panting hard, while Willem collapsed to the cloak flat and lay there, stunned, the sickening feel of regret and fear starting to take up residence in his abdomen now that whatever spell Jeremy had used on him was fading away quickly.

"Get out of me and get off me!" he demanded in a harsh rasp.

Jeremy slowly disentangled himself without a word, pulling out of Will as gently as possible. Willem shuddered and tried to ignore the stinging soreness in his arse as he forced himself to stand. His knees almost buckled, but he caught his balance at the last second. With shaking hands and on quivering legs, he immediately began gathering his clothes, his mind whirling a mile a minute, his heart still slamming in his chest and his breathing ragged. He wanted to get the fuck out of there _NOW_.

He reached for the first clothing he found: his pants. With relief, he pulled them on, forgetting about his boxers, opting to go commando. His fingers shook the whole time he tried to zip and re-button himself up.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, his best friend had just drunk from his vein while shagging him more thoroughly than he'd ever been in his entire life! Bloody fucking hell, his best friend wasn't even human. He was a rotting _Vampire_! All this time, and he'd never said a thing about it. Why had he lied? And why reveal himself like this tonight?

Well, wasn't it just so fecking obvious? Jeremy had been hungry, clearly (he'd certainly taken enough blood to make Willem feel like shite now), and Willem had been the unlucky fool to have been so readily on-hand. Maybe this was something he'd done with Fay regularly, but now that she was gone, he'd had no choice but to turn to someone else he trusted - someone like gullible, unquestioning Willem Bradley. Maybe that was why he'd offered to bring Will in on his little sex sessions with the witch – so when one of his food sources was out of commission for a bit, he'd have a fallback.

He reached for his socks and pulled them on, then his boots. The laces got tangled up in his quaking hands.

So, this whole thing had been a set-up then. Jeremy had led him out here into the middle of God-knows-where just so he could feast off of him like he was little better than cattle. The sex was probably just a freebie to say 'thanks for the meal' or something equally as disgustingly meaningless.

The thought made Will's heart ache with a pain he'd never known before. How could he have given himself away like this? How could he have been so easily fooled? Looking into Jeremy's eyes tonight, he'd thought… Merlin, what the hell _had_ he thought they were anyway? And what did it matter now? It had all been a pack of lies from the start!

"No, it wasn't!"

Will snarled viciously, looking for his shirt in the tall grass, finding it and turning it about, looking for the bottom hem so he could toss it over his head. "Stay the fuck out of my head, Jeremy. I mean it!"

"You were not just food and sex for me, Will," Jeremy insisted, his voice firm. "I've been _seriously_ infatuated with you since our school days, but I told you the truth: you were too young then and I was already seeing another man. When you came to the base camp a year and a half ago… I knew the second I looked at you again that I wanted you. I was pulled to you. Your blood called to me, just like it had when we were younger. What I feel for you… it's grown since then. You just never wanted to see it."

Frustrated with being unable to get his shirt turned the right way, and pissed off that Jeremy would dare try to pull his heartstrings with a bunch of bullshite about feelings, Will spun on his lover, knelt down and stopped centimeters from his face, sneering. "Don't ever say that to me again, you lying son of Satan. You _used_ me."

"I DID _NOT!_" Jeremy shouted back. "I was sharing my gift with you. I've never given that to anyone before, Will - not even to Fay. And I've never drunk from her either. I made you the offer for us to be a triumvirate of power because we're good together, and I need you both, and I thought it would be a strong enough union to keep us all safe from the Dark Lord if this little rebellion of our fails in the end."

Willem felt his eyes narrow in suspicion and the spiteful chuckle that came out of his mouth was laced with cruelty. "You need me? That's rich. Cold, undead bloodsuckers have no heart for _needing _others. They're solitary for a reason. Or were the textbooks wrong, Jer? Do tell."

Jeremy narrowed his eyes in warning. "I'm not undead and I _definitely_ have a heart. I'm as human as you in that way."

Will focused on getting his shirt turned around the right way. "_What_ are you exactly, again? I admit that I was a little too messed up in the head when you revealed yourself and your evil, little plans to me. What did you do to me when you bit me? Am I going to end up a living corpse now, too?"

Jeremy looked at him first with pain, but his face slid once more into that calm mask that he hid behind when he was hurt. "I told you, I'm not undead. And no, you're not going to turn. You'd have to drink my blood for that, and honestly, I don't think I'm strong enough to make Kindred, anyway, as I'm only half-Vampire."

Will's laugh sounded horrible even to his ears. "What the fuck does that mean – you're only a half-Vampire? Either you are or you aren't a bloodsucker."

Jeremy said nothing, staring at him passively.

"Answer my goddamned question, you bastard," he hissed, pointing a finger at his best friend. "You owe me an explanation after what you just did to me. Who the fuck are you _really_?"

Jeremy's mask cracked and he sighed despairingly, dropping his head into his hands. "I told you, I'm a half-Vampire, half-human Animagus wizard. My mother was born a Pureblood witch and she was a registered Animagus with the Ministry. She became a Vampire when she was attacked while on a skiing holiday with some friends in the Tatra Mountains, near Poland. She was the only one of six women to survive the attack, but she'd been made into one of the Kindred before the Ministry caught up to the Vampire who tortured and raped and turned her against her will and staked him. Years later, she met my Muggle father at some three day open air hippy festival. She could only go to the event at night, obviously, but they hooked up and I was conceived that same weekend. They got married and I was born exactly nine months to the day later. It turned out that I had inherited my mother's magical abilities, including the natural ability she had for being an Animagus. I didn't come into my Vampire heritage until I hit puberty, though. Dumbledore, Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey all knew what was going on with me, and they helped me get through the transition with potions and vials of clean blood from St. Mungo's. But now that I'm older, I don't need blood very often, as it turns out – only a few times a year, so long as I get enough of it when required. Regular food and sleep work just as fine to regenerate me, unless I've totally taxed myself out, but I've rarely done that and I'm generally careful. I've got a soul, and my heart beats, and I age just like you, and I will eventually die. I'm not sure how long I'll live, but I'm not immortal, I know that much. The information on half-Vampires is very limited, though, because they tend to get hunted out by full-blood Kindred quickly. As far as I know, I'm the only half-Vampire in existence still."

Will had been silent and still during the telling of Jeremy's history, and now he considered all his friend had just copped to. He had to admit that his curiosity was again getting the better of him. Instead of scurrying up and hastening off as he'd planned to do just minutes ago, now he wanted to know who this Jeremy sitting in front of him really was - partially to understand _what_ he'd just given his body and blood to, and partially because he wanted to understand this man before him better. "So, you're not affected by sunlight, garlic, open water, or crosses?"

Jeremy smirked and shook his head. "I'm only half-bloodsucker, remember, so sunlight doesn't bother me. I see and function better at night in general, though. Garlic, open water and crosses – all myth."

"But you're damned good at Legilimency," Will pointed out, remembering his Defense Against The Dark Arts reading. "And you're stronger physically than I am, even though you weigh a lot less. Plus, your reflexes, sight, hearing, smell – they're all in overdrive."

Jeremy nodded wearily, lifting his face from his hands to look at him. "Mind magic is a Vampire's innate ability. It's not done with a wand. I'm not exactly sure _why_ it works, honestly. I guess it's kind of like a Dementor's ability to just float around and suck the life out of everything just by willing themselves to do so. It's just a part of what they are. All I know is that if I think I want to do something – read someone's thoughts, talk to them telepathically, that sort of thing – I will it to happen and it does. And yeah, my body's muscles and bones are stronger and react better than a normal human's, my brain fires off neurons faster, and yes, _all_ my five senses are heightened. I remember what I was like before the change, and I'm definitely more physically and mentally enhanced."

Will really thought about what that meant. "But you don't need blood to get any of those benefits? So why did you drink mine then? And what did you mean when you said you've missed tasting my blood?"

Jeremy looked away quickly, and even in the dim moonlight, Will could see him blushing. "I-I've taken your vein before, but you don't remember it. One of the reasons I drank from you tonight was because I wanted to taste you again."

Willem snarled louder and fiercer this time, clenching his fists to keep himself from launching across the space between them and punching Jeremy smack in the jaw. He was royally jelled now. "When did you bite me, Jeremy? How come I can't remember that? What the hell have you been doing to me?"

Jeremy shut his eyes and his breathing had picked up in panic. He swallowed several times. "It was… only once. After that Quidditch try-out." He opened his eyes and they were filled with regret. "I was a different person then, Will. You have to understand. I've changed."

Will got up in his face again, growling. "Tell me the truth, you son of a bitch."

Jeremy looked down at his hands in his lap and let out a shaky breath. "I wan't a very nice person in school, Will. Once I went through the transition, I felt like… well, like I was privileged and entitled. I took what I wanted, when I wanted it. I was arrogant and stupid." He bought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them protectively. "I was attracted to you the moment I saw you step out onto that Quidditch field for try-outs. You were so determined to get a spot on the team, and you were really much better than any of the other candidates, but there were only two slots available, and I knew Roger Davies already had his favorites in mind for the one Chaser and the one Beater position that were open. You were Davies' second choice for Chaser, though; I read it from his mind. So, I 'retired' from my Chaser spot so you'd get it. I didn't do it because I was being benevolent though. I did it because I was hoping that you'd feel indebted to me - enough to agree to a night in my bed, anyway. I wanted to fuck you even then."

He ran a hand over his short buzzed hair nervously. "In the locker room after the try-outs, I waited for you. I even used mental tricks to get the others to leave before you, so we'd be alone. When I approached you, I told you what I'd done for you and…" He shut his eyes again in remorse. "I pressed my advantage and kind of seduced you." He sniffed, brushing a hand across his eyes. "We didn't kiss or fuck or anything like that," he amended quickly, "but I _did_ get you willing enough to let me drink from your throat. I was _burning_ to know how you tasted, and gods, it was the sweetest, thickest blood I've ever had. I was addicted and took a lot. You fought me, of course, but I mentally enthralled you. When I entered your mind to undo the captivation, I realized what a mistake I'd just made."

He looked up into Will's face with something akin to awe. "You're such _a bloody good person_, Will. You've worked hard for everything you've ever gotten in life. You never once hated your mother for abandoning you and your dad, even though you had every right to be angry with her for the things she'd said and done to you when she left. And you were a devout Christian who'd been forced into a world that was foreign and morally uncomfortable for you to accept, but you didn't want to let your father down, so you stayed and learned how to appreciate his heritage. You were self-sacrificing even then."

He looked down at his bare feet and sighed again. "When I compared your decency and integrity to who I was and what I did normally… It _hurt_, Will. On so many levels, it only reinforced that I wasn't human, but a monster. And I knew then that I had to let you go and _Obliviate_ your memories of my drinking from you. Even though my heart was calling for you after tasting your blood, I knew I couldn't have you. I felt unworthy of just touching you at that point."

Jeremy looked up at him completely vulnerable and open for the first time ever. "You changed me that day, Will. After that, I wanted to be good enough for you someday, even though I'd read in your mind that you didn't swing for guys. Even knowing that, I intentionally changed. I stopped being such a prick in school, and I started being more responsible about the use of my powers and strength. If not for that event, I probably would have been a right bastard and joined the Death Eaters' side in this war. Maybe even would have managed to bring the Vampires into the conflict against you all. They would have found you easily using their mind magic and enhanced scenting."

He shook his head, as if trying to banish that last thought. "Look, I'm not sure _why_ exactly things played out the way they did back in that locker room, Will, but thinking back now… Hell, even though I don't believe in Fate, it sure makes a good case."

Will digested everything he'd just heard, his mind whirling again savagely. He was furious and relieved and grieving all at the same time. It was sensory overload. "You said _one_ of the reasons you drank from me tonight was because you wanted to taste me again. What was the other reason?"

Jeremy looked uncomfortable again. "A Vampire bite doesn't have to be only for sustenance. Through your open vein, I passed a special aphrodisiac that I generated with my saliva. This… substance… is unique to every Vampire. No two are ever alike and other Vampires can distinguish when it's in someone's system using their heightened sense of smell. The aphrodisiac allows my partner to experience pleasure from the bloodletting act, because puncturing the skin is rather painful. With the proper mental stimulation to go along with it, using mind magic, every sensation is heightened for both the Vampire and his partner during sex. My mother told me it's called the Vampire's _Jouisseur_, which is French for 'Sensual Delight.' One of the… benefits… of this technique is that the aphrodisiac stays in your blood forever once it's been introduced. That way, a Vampire only needs to perform it once, and every time they feed from you or have sex with you, it will always be a mind-blowing fuck, and there isn't a need to keep marking one's territory against another Vampire's intrusion." Jeremy peeked at him out of the corner of his eye. "I gave you the _Jouisseur_ because I wanted to mark you, Will, so other Vampires would know to stay away. I won't share you with them."

Willem was sickened and appalled. "Share me? Not bloody likely! I'm not going to let a single one of you bloodsuckers come ten meters from me ever again!"

Jeremy's face grew horrified and he began violently shaking. "Don't say that," he whispered, his voice strangely weak. "I gave myself to you, Will. Don't you understand what that means? Do you understand what I've done?"

His mouth twisting in contempt, Willem scoffed. "Obviously not, Jer. So why don't you just explain it in plain English to me."

In a flash of movement so quick Will didn't see it, he was knocked over onto his back, and held down. He tried to push the other man off him, but the strength in Jeremy's hold was again too difficult to overcome. Will could bench one-hundred kilos easily, and Jeremy couldn't weigh more than eighty at the very most. And yet, Will couldn't budge him. "Get off me, motherfucker," he roared.

"Listen to me very carefully, Will," Jeremy commanded, his tone desperate, betraying his fear. "I marked you. I can't take it back. We're bound to each other now."

Will stilled every muscle between one heartbeat and the next. "What the _fuck_ are you saying?" he thundered.

"I asked you, remember? I asked you if you wanted me to stop," Jeremy pled his case. "I told you that if we didn't stop, neither of us could _ever_ go back. You said it was okay." He pressed his face in close, and Willem could smell the sweet, biting tang of blood – his blood - on Jeremy's breath. "The aphrodisiac binds us to each other. I can't give it to anyone else until you die. I can take others to my bed, and I'll get pleasure from it, but I can't ever have with them what I have with you now. I _chose_ you. Over Fay, over everyone else, I chose _you_, Will."

To say Will was dismayed and revolted would have been a light description for how he was feeling just then. "You're telling me that we're trapped together - for life?"

Tears filled Jeremy's beautiful cat-like eyes, silently pouring down his cheeks, dripping off onto Will's face. He shuddered while he cried silently. _Trapped? Is that how you see it? I've given you a part of me that can't be taken back and I won't ever find it again with another until you're gone. Don't you understand yet why?_

In that moment, staring up into Jeremy's anguished soul, Willem knew. He knew it and he echoed it in the vaults of his own heart, and he hated himself for being so easily manipulated. He clenched his teeth in agony. "Don't you say it, Jeremy. Don't you _DARE_ say it."

Jeremy lowered his mouth to Will's and whispered the truth in his mind as he kissed him, softly, gently. _I love you, Will. I have loved you for years. And I will love you until you die, and even after. No one else but you. _

Will stayed perfectly still, not moving, not touching back. But oh, did Jeremy taste delicious!

And to his horror, his body surged to attention and desire flared up between them again. The Vampire's mark - the _Jouisseur_ - came roaring back to life. Jeremy whimpered, desperation and desire moving through him, centering on where their lips met and the lust exploded between them once more. They ate at each other's mouths, Will's arms coming up to run over Jeremy's hips and waist with frantic need. He managed to regain some semblance of control at the last second, before his arms locked completely around Jeremy's back, altering course and grabbing his lover's shoulders instead, shaking him hard.

_NO, NO, __NO__! Liar! Deceiver! _

_Will, please… Give me a chance to make it up to you! Let me show you how sorry I am. _

Will somehow found the strength to push Jeremy's face away from his. He stared up at his one-time best friend and shook his head, angrily denying him. _You abused my trust in that locker room all those years ago, you've lied to me since the day I stepped into base camp about who and what you really are, you pretended to befriend me all so you could get into my pants, and tonight… you tricked me again, Jeremy. I didn't know what I was agreeing to. You should have just explained it to me before, given me the facts so I could make the right choice freely. But you didn't. You took me without a thought as to what this will do to me now. What you did… it's so close to a form of rape it's sickening. You haven't changed at all since school – you're still an evil, selfish schemer. And nothing you say now will make me believe you ever again, Devil. _

"I hate you," he spat aloud, refusing to speak to Jeremy with his mind again, and shoved his lover off of him with all the strength he could muster. Jeremy collapsed to the side, turned his face away in shame and he heard him sniffling back his tears unsuccessfully. Scrambling to his feet, Will grabbed his wand from where it lay in the grass nearby and took off as fast as his legs could carry him.

When he got back to base camp minutes later, he realized that he couldn't go back into his tent. He didn't want to stay there with Jeremy anymore. Instead, he made for the head pavilion, hoping the one person he could talk to would still be awake.

He was, thank God.

"Hey, what's up?" Blaise greeted him, a bottle of hard bourbon in front of him, already a third of the way empty. Will grabbed an empty glass on the table, blew into it to make sure it was clean, and slammed it down in front of Zabini, indicating he could use a stiff drink. Blaise gave him the once over with a raised eyebrow and poured.

"Thanks," he stated, downing the half glass in one pull and requesting another. Blaise poured, not saying anything, and watched as Will downed the second glass as fast as the first. When he asked for a third, Blaise hesitated for a second, but then acquiesced. He kicked out a chair for Will to sit down at the same moment, for which his shaky legs were thankful. The adrenaline rush was starting to leave him, and the night's events were freshly coming back to wound him.

The two men said nothing to each other for the longest time. Will stared at his glass' lip, turning it around and around nervously while he thought about what he wanted to do regarding Jeremy. Blaise stated at him, silently. After an hour of no conversation, Zabini stood and grabbed his glass and bourbon bottle to make ready to go. "I'm heading to bed now. Night," he offered, and started past him towards the tent exit.

"Blaise?" Will hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud until the other wizard stopped and turned, giving him an inquisitive look. He took a deep breath and then blew it out. "Can I bunk with you and Malfoy for tonight?" He looked up at Zabini, trying to keep his feelings from showing on his face, but he'd never been one to perfect that Slytherin mask of calm that everyone else around here seemed to be so good at. "I need to find other, permanent sleeping arrangements."

Blaise looked at him in shock and confusion at first, and then with a sort of strange, dawning comprehension. Will didn't think the other man knew the extent of the problem, but he had guessed something really fucking bad had happened between him and Jeremy in that second. "Sure, man, not a prob. Grab your kit. I'll help you tomorrow to find a new home."

Will nodded in thanks and with great trepidation made his way back to his tent. Adrian was there, sleeping fast next to his newest interest, Anica, but Jeremy's cot remained cold and unoccupied. He breathed a sigh of relief, quickly and quietly grabbed up his blanket, pillow and Bag of Holding, and made his way across camp to Blaise's quarters.

After getting situated for the night, careful not to wake up Malfoy, Will finally lay his head down on his pillow. But it was another hour at least before sleep finally conquered him. Even then, his dreams were tortured by thoughts of Jeremy Stretton's kisses, his sincere confession of love, and his broken hearted sobs as Will had run away from him.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	9. Ch 8: An Unmentionable Secret

**Chapter Eight: **_**An Unmentionable Secret**_

_**The Madam's House - Stratford-On-Avon, England**_

**Saturday, September 2, 2000 – Sunday, September 3, 2000**

Hermione waited all afternoon and evening for Teddy and Pansy to come to her room, but neither put in an appearance. She fell asleep sometime after midnight to, thankfully, no dreams that she could recall (which meant Harry wasn't poking around in her head), and awoke the next morning to find that the previous night's food tray had been removed and replaced with one carrying a small croissant and a cup of coffee (straight black, no cream or sugar). She ate the meager fare after checking it for possible contamination or poisons, and then curiously poked around her room. The space under the bed was covered in dust motes, but other than that was bare. The drawers of the dresser were empty. There was nothing behind the tall, stand-alone mirror, and it wasn't enchanted in any fashion. She tapped on the walls, but they all appeared solid; there were no signs of panic rooms or hidey nooks.

By the time she'd finished her inspection, Hermione was bored and restless. It was a little after nine o'clock in the morning, according to the Sandkeeper she kept safely tucked into her Bag of Holding. Where were her contacts? What was going on outside the magically silenced door?

With her curiosity in high gear (tinged with a shade of fear of the possibility that Teddy and Pansy had been found out), she decided to act. She cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself (that icky feeling of a raw egg being cracked over her head gave her goose pimples), making sure first that her transfigured face and hair were back in place after having faded out as she'd slept. Then, she unlocked her door with an easy "_Alohamora_" and stealthily made her way through the corridors looking for any sign of Astoria, Teddy or Pansy.

Very quickly, she discovered that The Madam's House was _much_ larger than she had assumed it to be yesterday. Apparently, from the layout and general decor, it had once been a series of shared dormitories for members of The Royal Shakespeare Company and students and teachers attending The Shakespeare Institute. A small "YOU ARE HERE" map on the wall near the end of the corridor showed that there were three floors to each of the three wings of the dorms (so aptly named the East Wing, the West Wing and the North Tower). Each floor had at least a dozen rooms. Hermione did the math in her head quickly. If every space was occupied, that meant that there had to be literally over a hundred women trapped in here, all forced into servicing The Madam and her clientele! The knowledge that those girls were literal slaves, having been the 'choice spoils' of Death Eater raids through towns, sickened Hermione and reinforced her desire to destroy Lord Mort and his despicable followers once and for all. She would take great pleasure in shutting down this particular house of evil someday.

Most of the doors were closed on the three floors of her wing (the East Wing, from what she remembered Phaedra stating), some with "activity" happening behind them, but the majority were silent, with their occupants presumably sleeping or otherwise not engaged with a Punter. Not wanting to risk walking through the wooden passages into unknown situations and possibly getting caught, she stuck to roaming the halls and looking into the open doors.

When she came to the North Tower, she grew more cautious. This end felt… different, more "seasoned," for lack of a better word. Here, she knew instinctively was where the Sex-Witches were housed. She could sense trembling magical auras pushing unintentionally against hers, and backed off. Could they sense her presence? It would be better not to test that theory right now. She headed back and into the West Wing instead.

By the time she'd canvassed the two opposing annexes, she grew despondent. Either Astoria was in one of the rooms with the locked doors – something she was growing increasingly doubtful of, for why put a prisoner in such an easily accessible room? – or, she was in the North Tower or in some hidden basement area, which Hermione could not find any entrance to.

Her stomach growled suddenly in the hush of the hallway and she froze. Oh, shit. Her traitorous hunger could give her away! She quickly and as quietly as possible made her way back towards the room that had been "assigned" to her, hoping her rumbling guts didn't alert anyone to her unseen presence. She entered her room and shut the door behind her with a sigh of relief… only to find a lunch tray had been brought up in her absence. She checked her Sandkeeper – it was already past three o'clock in the afternoon! She hadn't even realized how long she'd been gone. But someone obviously knew now that she hadn't been in here.

Worried, she checked the food once more for safety, and then downed it, sitting on the bed again and staring off into space, making plans and wondering what the hell had happened to Theo.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

That evening, she got answers when Pansy came to visit her.

"Where's Theo and Astoria?" Hermione demanded as soon as the other woman had shut the door behind her and silenced it with a wave of her wand.

The dark-haired witch put down the dinner tray she had carried in with her and turned to stare her one-time nemesis down. Her mouth turned up at the corners in a leering smirk. "Theo's been sleeping off the after-effects of being with mother all yesterday and last night. Mom tends to wear men out, literally. I'd swear she was a Succubus… except everyone knows they don't exist. Astoria is safe, for now. I'm keeping her with Fay."

Hermione started, a nervous twitter invading her belly. She dropped her arms to her sides, confused. "Fay Dunbar works for _you_? Then… she's not a traitor?"

Pansy snorted indelicately. "Yes, she works for me, and no she's not a traitor – not to your side anyway."

"I don't understand then," Hermione admitted, her brows knitted down in consideration of the facts. "If she didn't kidnap Astoria to bring her here and turn her over to your mother, then what was she doing coming here at all?"

Pansy pursed her perfectly plump, rouged lips and narrowed her eyes in thought. Hermione knew in that second that the Slytherin Queen didn't want to give up any more information about Fay's furtive motivations, but she couldn't discern why Parkinson would be covering for her either. What was the big secret? "Don't go wandering off alone again," Pansy suddenly warned, switching topics purposefully. "If my mother passed by you in the corridor, she could sense you - even under a Disillusionment Charm. She's the most powerful Sex-Witch in over five hundred years and sensing auras is her specialty."

"Manipulating them, too, apparently," Hermione sniffed disdainfully, realizing she was going to have to play Pansy's game for now to get the answers she wanted later. She was, literally, at the woman's mercy for the time being. "She pulled a hell of a trick on Theo and me when we first came in."

Pansy's head came up suddenly, her face deadly serious. "What did she do?"

Hermione blushed just thinking about Theodore Nott's body pressed against hers, his hot breath on her neck, the musky smell of his skin tickling her nose, tantalizing her. "She… she did something that forced Theo and I to react… sexually. I'm not sure how she did it, but I was… _very_ aware of him."

"How did you react?" Pansy asked, and Hermione looked up at her appalled. However, there was no excitement in the other woman's eyes, as she'd incorrectly assumed, but a sense of dread and worry. "Did my mother touch you?"

Hermione recalled yesterday's events and nodded. "She… made me feel desire for him. It was very powerful. And she touched my hair. Just the ends of it though, and just before she turned her power on."

Pansy blanched. "Did she touch Theo at the same time that she was forcing your lust on you?"

"I… I don't know. I was turned into Theo's chest and I had my eyes closed," she admitted, and then she considered it. "I think… yeah, she might have been touching his arm. I recall something out of the corner of my eye. Red nail polish. But I didn't feel her hands on _me_ except just to touch my hair that one time. That was before she started using magic on me. On us."

Slippery eels again took up residence in Hermione's stomach as Pansy worried her lip and looked away. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed. "Shit." She glanced back at Hermione with serious concern. "How many men have you fucked, Granger? Who were they?"

Incredulous at such an intimate question, Hermione scrunched her face in distaste. "Why the hell should I tell you that?"

Pansy crossed to her and grabbed her by the arms tightly, shaking her once. There was an almost masculine strength in that lush body of hers that took Hermione by surprise. "Now that she's touched your aura and your person, my mother will know how many people you've been with, and if they've come here, she may even know who they were. So tell me! I need to know who to keep an eye out for if they come in."

The logic was sound, but Hermione was terribly embarrassed to answer. "I…" She couldn't make herself say aloud what had happened to her – not to Pansy Parkinson. It was discomforting to think that her oldest female rival might actually laugh at her misfortune. Pansy shook her again to force a confession from her, but Hermione was starting to get angry. She shoved the other woman off of her easily. They stared across the half meter between them, their eyes locked in stubbornness, a battle of wills to see who would crack first.

"This isn't a game, Granger," Pansy murmured. "Your life, my life, Theo's life, Astoria and Fay's lives… we're all in serious danger. Have you fucked someone who became a Death Eater or who works for them? One of their toadies even? Anyone who might have reason to come here?"

She shuddered in angry resignation, won over by Pansy's obviously sincere apprehension. "I've only… been… with one man. He… raped me. He's a Death Eater." She shut her eyes and looked away. "Cormac McLaggen."

There was such stillness in the air that Hermione's curiosity got the better of her and she turned to look back to see Pansy's reaction, praying it wouldn't be a smirk of triumph or something equally as devastatingly humiliating. But what she saw instead caused her heart to stop for a beat or two. Pansy looked utterly, absolutely horrified. She took one step back, then another and another and another, until her back hit the door. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ," she whispered the horrid blasphemy on an exhaled breath, her eyes wide with disbelief and panic.

Hermione thought she would be sick right there on the floor from the woman's reaction. "What?" she asked in a low murmur, almost afraid to know the truth.

With sweat now beading the top of her lip, Pansy shook herself away from the door. Her breath was irregularly fast, and her fear was palatable on the air. "Granger, we _have_ to get you out of here _now_. You can't stay. Leave Astoria and Fay. Just get ready to go."

Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest now. "What about Cormac McLaggen? What do you know, Pansy?"

Pansy looked down at her feet, shut her eyes, and clenched her jaw. "He's a... a bloody _Tracker_, who also happens to be my mother's most loyal and devoted sex toy, willing to do anything she wants - even kill. I've seen him slit a girl's throat here once because my mother was displeased with her services towards another client. It didn't seem to bother him at all. Lord Mort has personally assigned The Madam's safety to him. Cor's a monster, Granger. An absolute monster. There are no boundaries he won't cross."

"What's a Tracker?" Hermione asked, knowing she'd regret doing so in a minute.

Pansy sighed. "A wizard who hunts down Death Eaters for Lord Mort. They're specialist killers, who are trained in very specific, old magical curses called The Unmentionables." When Hermione gave Pansy a look of non-recognition, Pansy explained. "The Unmentionables were seven of the worst curses ever invented by wizarding-kind, used during the Inquisition by fanatical Pureblood wizards hiding amongst the Catholic Church's numbers to hunt out Muggle-born witches and wizards. The Ministry banned all references to the Unmentionables and burned any books that contained any information on them in the 1700's. Somehow, Lord Mort found a reference to them, though. I can only guess that he must have found a book or something in the old Headmaster's office in The Fortress. In any case, for the past six or so months, he's been training special, hand-picked Death Eaters to teach them these curses. He calls these initiates 'Trackers.' They're the boogie-men that keep the Death Eaters in line. Cor's his number one student."

Six months... That was about the time the Death Eater attacks on their camp started to become more intense, and about the time Harry started invading her dreams. It couldn't be coincidence. Perhaps finding this reference to these Unmentionable Curses somehow gave Voldemort the kick-start he needed to get moving again. By why...? She considered it seriously. What would she do if she had an army of loyal Trackers at her command? Well, she'd start by whipping the rebellious, lazy and decadent Death Eaters back into shape. By doing so, she'd reaffirm control over the Death Eater Council, and over the civilian constabulary. Then, she'd reorganize her people and move to squash any talk of civil war amongst the populace...

...which was what Mort was planning to do in a few weeks, according to Theo's intelligence. That massive operation across the U.K. was meant to cull disloyal individuals, town by town, city by city. After, she was sure that the Council was going to set it up so that the system was self-policing. And in those instances when an example was needed to reiterate the obvious, a Tracker would probably be sent in and pick someone random, trump up false charges and execute them publicly. The order would be maintained on the shoulders of fear. It was Fascism at its best. Apparently, the wizarding world had forgotten the lessons learned by the Muggles during the Second World War in Europe.

"Tell me what you know about these Unmentionables, Cormac McLaggen, and how your mother's connection to him has anything to do with you or me," she bid Pansy with a level eye. "I have some theories, but I need to understand the whole picture before I jump to conclusions. Give me the whole truth, Pansy. No omissions. It's important."

Pansy indicated the bed with a wave of her hand. "You may want to sit down. This could take a while." Hermione took the advice, perching herself on the end, leaning her elbows forward into her knees, and waited. "Where do I begin?" Pansy asked, making a ticking noise with her mouth. "The Unmentionables... I don't know much. I only know of two of them. _Organum Ructus_ rots a person's internal organs. I believe you might remember it from the battle you, Potter and your friends engaged in at the Ministry at the end of Fifth Year. Antonin Dolohov cast it at you, from what I understand through the grapevine."

Hermione _did_ remember that curse. For months she'd had to take no less than ten painful potions daily - and that had been a _weakened_ form of the hex, as Dolohov had cast it at her non-verbally. If she'd been hit with the fully spoken version, who knows what might have happened; she could have died or been permanently maimed somehow. She knew she'd gotten away lucky that time, but to know it was one of the seven Unmentionables... Now she _really_ felt lucky.

"The only other one I know about is _Fiamma Morte_," Pansy explained with a grimace. "That's a nasty one. It causes a person to spontaneously combust. Their organs liquefy, their blood boils in their veins, and the pressure builds up in their head until it actually bursts open like an overripe melon. It takes at least a minute for the person to die and they scream the whole time. It's horrible to watch. Cormac used it not a month ago on a Snatcher who had killed one of mother's girls, at Phaedra's request, of course. It took days to scrub that room clean."

"As for Cor, me and my mother..." Fire bloomed in Pansy's cheeks. "Fine, I'll tell you all the nasty grit you can handle. What the hell do I have to lose at this point? You've got enough on me already to see my mother kills me slowly and painfully if you want. But I have two conditions. The first I'll ask of you now, and the second after I'm done talking." She held up one finger. "Number one: if I tell you my story, Granger, you have to promise not to mention a word of it to Draco - _ever_. Give me your word, Mudblood, and I'll sing for you."

Hermione looked her dead in the eye and realized that Pansy was testing her, hence the reason for the insult. Okay, if that's the way it was going to be, then she'd just make the call and lay her cards down on the table, too. She nodded, stood and offered her arm out to make the Unbreakable Vow. Pansy stared hard at her for long minutes deciding, she could tell. Finally, she took Hermione's arm and they locked wrists together... but Pansy never waved her wand over them, never spoke the words to bind Hermione to the agreement. She just stared at her with those dark, half-lidded, made-up eyes and finally, after another two silent minutes of close analysis, with another nod, Parkinson released her. "Okay, but don't forget that you still have one more condition to meet after," Pansy reminded her. "And no balking."

"I heard you the first time," Hermione sarcastically remarked. "Of the two of us, I think my word is the better given, so sing away, Tweety."

Pansy obviously didn't get the reference to the Muggle cartoon, because she just looked at Hermione like she was daft. Hermione waved her on, and she began:

"When Cor came here with a group of Death Eaters a year after the war, after this place had been officially opened to the public, my mother took it upon herself to personally 'indoctrinate' him. She did this for two reasons: first, because she wanted a connection to Lord Mort through a Death Eater who could be easily manipulated, but was also obviously going to climb the ladder of success quickly within the organization. Cor was perfect in that regard. The other reason was that he was the son of Marr McLaggen, my mom's old high school lover who had dumped her for Cor's mother. She never forgot what McLaggen Senior had done to her, and she'd been trying for years to get at him through throwing his son together with me."

She tsk'd. "It started in Fourth Year. Mother made it her mission to try to get McLaggen Junior and me to date. She'd send me letters with hints: I should take him to the Yule Ball, I should go to Quidditch matches with him, and I should wear make-up and be pretty for him. She said he was a good catch because he was a Pureblood and handsome and charming, and that it didn't matter that he was in Gryffindor because his father was more like a Slytherin, so those noble traits would eventually pass to the son as he got older." Pansy sneered. "Whatever. The fucking tosser is mean, not crafty. He'd never be worthy of Slytherin." She smirked then, and it was a cruel look on her pretty face. "When she'd found out I'd lost my virginity to Draco, she just about lost her cookies, because she'd wanted my first time to be with Cor. I never knew any of his family connection to mother until later, of course."

At that point, Pansy's face fell, and a haunted look came into her eyes. She was silent for several more minutes, and then she turned her face to the wall, shame and pain etched into every crevice. "A few months later, during one of Cormac's regular visits, mother called me in to join them and commanded me to fuck him for her viewing entertainment. I refused… but you never deny my mother anything once she's decided she wants it. I tried to run, but she grabbed my arm. I made the mistake of being too close and letting her touch me." She looked over at Hermione and blinked back tears. Hermione was floored. "This is what I was trying to tell you, Granger. My mother's magic is _incredible_. She doesn't need a wand to make you do what she wants. All she has to do is direct her will on you if she's touching you or your partner, and you'll do anything she asks gladly, like you've been _Imperio'd_. You have no will of your own until she lets you go." She released a shaky breath. "So I did it. We did it. Cormac and me." Her lips curled up in disgust. "He fucked me into the mattress and then some. And after Cor was through with me and left, mother finally told me the truth – about her one-time affair with his father and her anger over being dumped. Because of that, she'd had to marry my father, who she hated. Papa was infatuated with mother and took her in to be his wife even though her reputation in society was ruined because she'd behaved like the whore she is with McLaggen Senior. But no matter how good my father was to her, she couldn't get over the man she'd been obsessed with. So, his son was a good substitute. A sort of revenge taking, I guess. He looks a lot like his dad, too, from old photographs I've seen, so I suppose that only reinforced her decision to get involved with Cormac. That and he's just as sadistic and cruel as she is."

Hermione's mind whirled over the bomb that had just been unceremoniously dropped on her. "Holy mother of Merlin," was all she could think to say at first. The disgust and sympathy were obvious in her tone. After several additional minutes of silence between them, she finally got up the nerve to ask Pansy the question she really wanted to know: "I can understand her going after Cor, but why would she do that to you – try to get you two hooked up and then force you to have sex with him, too?"

Parkinson huffed in sad amusement, serious grief flashing in her beautiful, dark eyes. "Because she's always seen me as her second chance at life, like she could live through me somehow. And when things didn't work out as she'd hoped between Cormac and I back in school – when I wouldn't let him touch me because I'd fallen for Draco - she figured she'd punish me. It took her years to come up with the perfect revenge, but she pulled it off. She made us fuck in front of her, just so she could gloat over getting her way finally… and she made me enjoy my own rape, too." A bitter smirk turned up the corner of one side of her face. "And ironically, she did it all because she was soured that Marr McLaggen had dumped her flat more than twenty years ago. The guy's been dead since the war started anyway - Cor killed him personally soon after hooking up with mom – but his death didn't burn away her hatred for McLaggen Senior." Pansy's petite hands clenched into fists at her side and her voice went ice hard. "But that's only a small part of why I hate my mother. What she's done to me… I've survived worse since I came to this place." She turned dark, feral eyes on Hermione. "Do you want to know the real reason why I've worked so hard for years to destroy her, Granger?"

Hermione could only nod, compelled into hearing the rest of this train wreck of a life, despite her moral qualms against putting Pansy through anymore.

Parkinson snarled, her voice a hiss between her teeth. "Because she had her little blond boy-toy hunt down my father and drag him before Lord Mort as a traitor to the cause. My father was a hard man in general, but I know that beneath his rough ways, he loved me, and for some reason I still don't get, he loved my bitch of a mother. And yet she had him ratted out to the Dark Lord for refusing to take the mark of a Death Eater. He was a Pureblood, good friends with Lucius Malfoy. He'd heard of Draco's father's sad death because the man refused to kill his own wife and son at Voldemort's command, and he had said he would never put either my mother or I in such jeopardy that way. He took us and we went into hiding before the final battle. But when Lord Mort rose to power, my mother sniffed out her chance for a new life and kidnapped me and brought me here. My father tried to get her to come back, but she refused. She told him she'd always hated him and that she had new friends now – the Death Eaters who had risen to power under Lord Mort's command. My father went into hiding again… and then she had Cormac go hunt him down like some dog in the street, and bring him in chains to The Fortress. She even bragged to me that my father…" Pansy's voice faltered unexpectedly, choking with emotion. "Papa was a proud and handsome man, and they beat him until they broke him. He begged for death in the end. He _begged_…"

She tried to stifle her sobs behind tightly clamped lips, but torrents of salty water poured down her scarlet cheeks nonetheless. Hermione felt her heart go out to her one-time rival. Pansy was wounded all the way to her very core, that much was obvious, but there was a fierce intensity that straightened her spine even as her shoulders shook under the weight of her grief. She didn't look like a woman about to collapse and give in. No, she was an avenging dark angel of sorrow that neither wanted sympathy, nor would accept it. Hermione held back her offerings of compassion out of respect for that strength. She turned her head and gave Pansy the privacy she deserved.

When her misery was controlled once more, Parkinson wiped at her face with the back of her hand and sniffled delicately, the first sound between them for long minutes. She took a deep breath and finally finished her tale. "After he died, I vowed I'd avenge him. But… the reality is much harder to accomplish than I'd thought it would be. Mother's too strong to confront outright. She can feel anyone approaching her from meters away, and she could easily make me turn my wand or a knife on myself before I could blink. So, what I'm doing… it's the only way I can think of to bring her down." Her eyes narrowed, becoming absolutely venomous and Hermione saw the reptilian coldness in her that betrayed her Slytherin heritage. "Someday, when Mort is destroyed and all of this collapses around her, I'm going to tell that bitch that it was me who betrayed her. And then I'm going to smile as I shove a knife in her heart personally."

Hermione and she connected gazes and right then and there, in that tiny room, they shared a moment of perfect harmony as Hermione nodded her approval of the plan. Pansy gave her a feral grin, which Hermione mirrored.

"What about Fay and Astoria?" she finally asked, breaking the connection reluctantly. "I can't abandon them, no matter what your mother and Cormac are up to. They're my responsibility. I'll handle your mother somehow. I'll think up a way to keep her out of my head. Counting sheep seemed to confuse her last time. The might be the trick."

A delicately raised eyebrow greeted that pronouncement and Pansy's grin faded. She sighed. "You're too much a bloody Gryffindor for you own good sometimes, Granger," she growled, but it was clear that Hermione was going to win this round. "What do you need from me?"

Hermione crossed her arms again as a sign of her obduracy. "I'm not leaving without Astoria and Fay either with me, or I get them personally safely on a boat to America. In either case, I want to see them both. As soon as possible." Her tone brooked no argument.

Pansy ran a frustrated hand over her dark hair. "For Slytherin's sake, Granger, they're both safe. Fay brought Malfoy's preggie bitch in when she recognized one of Mort's lackeys in your camp. She knew this was the only place they could come to find quick and safe passage out of the country."

Hermione had no mind to consider the jealous curse directed at Astoria's person by Pansy in that moment. Instead, her thoughts focused on only one thing that Pansy has said: Fay had brought Astoria here to keep her safe from someone back at camp. _Oh, gods_… there was a real traitor in their midst and she'd left her group open without even realizing it. Cold panic shot through her gut, and she strangled out her next question in between clenched teeth. "Who's the spy living with my people right now? Which one is the Death Eater?"

Pansy tapped her wand absently against her bare thigh for a moment (she wore a _very_ short skirt). "I'm not sure. She came here and asked me for help, and I gave it, no questions asked. Only Fay can give you the details." She turned for the door.

Hermione blinked and looked around. "What, now?"

Her former schoolmate looked at her like she had a screw loose. "You did say 'as soon as possible,' if I recall correctly, did you not? Then let's go get the name of your traitor and figure out what we're going to do next, shall we? Then, I'll ask you my second stipulation."

That sinking feeling – the same one that had invaded Hermione's guts on the morning Astoria had revealed she'd slept with Malfoy – slid around in her stomach now, making her a little nauseated. She had a terrible feeling that the traitor was someone close to her – someone she would have never suspected. She shut her eyes, allowing herself only thirty seconds to panic and feel the horror and then she let it go and followed Pansy out under a Disillusionment Charm. It was time to get the whole truth directly from the horse's mouth.

Godric's final bane, this was going to hurt, wasn't it?

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	10. Ch 9: To Want You

**Chapter Nine: **_**To Want You**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Sunday, September 3, 2000**

Charlie Weasley spent the entire morning with Malfoy, Snape, Pucey, Clearwater, Zabini and Krum in a huddled gathering in the main tent, working through contingency logistics. Granger had been gone for more than thirty-two hours, and it was time to start considering what they'd have to do if she was captured or killed, or - equally as bad – actually succeeded in bringing Astoria home, but somehow revealed the location of their camp unwittingly to the enemy.

They first considered their fall-back positions. Using Granger's map and detailed notes (which she had left behind for them), they had decided that none of the three options she had previously picked out would now work. When Snape's spy's Patronus had appeared last night (some sort of large herding dog that looked like it could take on wolves and bears – a Karakachan or something like that, according to Krum) with the news that the Death Eaters were going to make an aggressive, decisive move on the cities and towns throughout the U.K. in a couple of weeks to get rid of non-loyalists to Mort, they realized that they'd have to stick to the Commons for base camp potentials. There was no way they could risk staying in a safe house in some well-populated location, especially with Snatcher gangs set to roam the streets and spies everywhere. After much debate and checking the map, they decided upon three possibilities: Frensham Little Pond in Surrey, The Cairngorms National Park in northeast Scotland, and The Wicklow Mountains in southeastern Ireland. All were surrounded by woods, had a clean water source nearby, and had enough open space around them that searchers would be hard-pressed to locate them.

Next they discussed the potential supply problem in the future caused by the new Death Eater plan. They'd agreed that they would risk another supply raid tonight and fully stock up (the sooner the better, just in case they were forced to quickly jump), uncaring if the Council or the constabulary got involved. They decided to pick a location that was random and had no intention of returning to ever again for this excursion. Checking their notes, they decided they'd hit the Morrison's in Canterbury a place they hadn't been to in over a year (it had a fully-stocked grocery and a pharmacy). They'd port in someplace close enough not to get caught and port back out to two different locations before heading back to camp. Charlie volunteered to lead the supply raid and Blaise said he would pick two others to go with him. The others approved.

Finally, they discussed how long they planned to give Granger to complete her mission and bring Astoria home before someone else was sent in to find out what happened to the two women and Snape's spy (whom none of them knew the name of, since Severus was playing his cards close to his chest with the person's identity). Malfoy suggested a week, but Snape disagreed, stating that such operations were delicate in nature and could take several weeks to safely extract all three of them and to throw off potential tailgaters. He suggested a month. It was Viktor who threw out the compromise of two and a half weeks and they all reluctantly agreed.

After that, they separated and Charlie was left to wander the camp until lunch was ready around one - or so Pucey promised. His patrol had been cancelled because he was going on a mission tonight, so he made his way down to the beach, which he hadn't had much opportunity to visit since he'd arrived. Sitting himself down on his cloak on the edge of the sand line, he leaned his forearms on his knees and looked out over the waves, deep in thought.

Had Fay really been a spy? He just couldn't make himself believe it.

And yeah, that was his instincts talking, not his dick.

Somehow, deep inside, through the connection they'd made, he knew Fay Dunbar was no traitor. So, that meant she'd left because she'd had to. But the question was, _why?_ And who was she running from – him? If so, why had Astoria gone with her?

Just thinking of Fay ripped his guts out.

They'd only just met for Merlin's sake! And she was a common slag. He'd been raised to believe people like her - both the women and the men afflicted with the ability to magically manipulate sexual auras - were immoral and low caste, and he'd been warned away from them from a very early age by his father and mother whenever he'd passed Knockturn Alley and seen one calling out to passers-by with offers for "a good time." And yet, here he was, totally torn up by a woman who unapologetically made the camp rounds.

The memory of Fay's scent rose in his nostrils – jasmine and vanilla. He recalled her soft skin, the taste of her lips and tongue, and the sounds of her tiny gasps of pleasure as he brought her with his hands and mouth... He closed his eyes, and the night they'd shared just hours before she'd disappeared from camp roared back through his mind. They'd made love, and it had been beautiful. After, he'd told her he'd fallen in love with her, and she'd countered by spitting back that she'd hated him. Then she'd cried and his heart had broken in two, and he'd understood that they were both devastated by their feelings for each other. Neither of them had expected this to ever happen for them, and especially not with the least likely person of all (she was a Sex-Witch who liked men, and he a man who wanted a pure woman for wife).

Could he accept that she'd been with dozens and dozens of men during her tenure in The Madam's House and here at camp, and that she'd done things that he might find repulsive? He sighed in frustration, running a hand through his long, red bangs. This burning jealousy deep inside ate at him, and yet there was this other side telling him to grow the hell up. He'd had his own share of women – maybe not _that_ many, but still…

Bottom line: Fay was spectacular, and he knew he was a fool for resenting her past. She burned him up inside and made every nerve in his body feel alive. He'd never known this feeling before. It shouldn't matter what had come before him; the war had made them all a little off. What counted was their future - and he knew he wanted Fay in his.

He'd made the decision: as soon as he'd discharged his duties to this group, and Granger was back with Astoria safely (or dead, whichever the case may be), he intended on hunting down Fay and taking her with him to America, to where his family was safely hidden. She wasn't getting away from him again.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

After lunch, Kenny Markham moved through the camp and swiftly out into the grass field, already five minutes late for his scheduled patrol swap-out. When he came upon the person he was to replace, standing on the perimeter edge engaged in his scheduled watch, he let his presence be known with a slight clearing of his throat. "Oliver, sorry I'm late."

Wood turned with his typical, rakish smile plastered to his boyish features. For a man of twenty-four, he looked more like he was Kenny's age – that of a seventeen year old. "It's fine," he easily absolved Kenny. "Although, I admit ta kinna gettin' a wee bit hungry waitin' on ya."

Oliver's easy going ways and Scottish brogue made him impossible to dislike. Apparently, that went double for the ladies. Kenny had seen the guy in action back in Romania, and he knew he'd tapped that Dunbar chick a couple of times before she'd done the disappearing act here in camp - and he'd only been around for a few hours at that point (secretly, Kenny was both awed and jealous of that fact, as he'd have liked to have fucked the Sex-Witch just once, himself).

"Thanks, man. Make it up to you," Kenny offered as Oliver moved past him. He blinked against the afternoon sun off to his left, shading his eyes from the glare and took up his post.

Behind him, he heard Oliver stop. "Actually, there is something ya can do fer me, if ya don't mind."

Kenny nonchalantly shrugged. "Sure."

"Swap bunks with me," Oliver requested. "I havenna been getting rest sharin' a tent with the like o' Krum snorin' away. I could use a good night just once. Would ya be willin' ta change out with me?"

Kenny considered it and nodded. "Yeah, okay." He didn't mind the move, actually, as it would mean he'd be in a less crowded tent now that Bradley had moved in with him and Swann this morning. Kenny slept like a rock, so snoring never bothered him. He'd rather have more space, honestly.

Oliver smiled. "Great. I'll just move my things after the supp. Thanks, mate."

Kenny turned back to the endless sea of grass in front of him with an easy wave over his shoulder. "No problem. See ya later." He heard Oliver's legs crunch through the grass as the older man headed back towards camp, and Kenny turned all his focus on his guard duty, keeping a wary eye out on the horizon for trouble.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

Viktor made his way after the morning's meeting to his assigned patrol area after grabbing a quiet lunch in the main tent. He was finally no longer confused by the strange terminology this group used to distinguish where the different patrol points were located. The British group all spoke in some sort of strange Muggle code, calling the left side the "yellow shirts," the right side the "blue shirts," and the middle area the "red shirts." Frankly, he didn't understand what the color of one's clothing had anything to do with cardinal points on a map.

He traded places with Willem Bradley, who yawned. The tall, blond looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept the night before, but it wasn't Viktor's place to comment on such things. His people did not ask personal questions, like many Westerners did, and they did not divulge information easily about themselves either. It was the way of things.

An hour into his three-hour shift, Sorin approached. They spoke in Russian, the language they'd both fluently learned under the Communist leadership of their countries as children (Sorin was Romanian and Viktor Bulgarian, and they did not share a similar language otherwise).

"Cigarette?" Sorin offered his pack of wizard smokes. Viktor shook his head. This was a habit his parents had never embraced (mostly because it was a disgusting Muggle habit that wizards had adopted as well), and although he had tried it a few times – what honest Bulgarian boy hadn't smoked, drank his first Rakia and had sex with a woman by the age of sixteen after all? – he hadn't much liked the habit. So, he'd stopped.

"No, thank you," he replied in Russian, keeping an eye out on the empty field before him. Viktor took his guard duty seriously. He knew Hermione would be cross with him if he didn't.

"So, what do you think?" Sorin asked, getting to the heart of the matter, using the tip of his wand to light up his tobacco stick. He took a deep drag and slowly blew it out. His right leg suddenly stopped jiggling, Viktor noted.

"Can you please blow out in the other direction?" he politely requested, not liking the smell wafting back at him.

"I apologize," Sorin automatically replied with a slight bow of his head, turning downwind for his second exhalation. "I ask again, what do you think?"

Viktor was silent for a bit, thinking of an appropriate reply. It was never good to reveal too much of one's thoughts. "I need more time to consider." That was a safe response, non-committal. He could feel Sorin's black eyes on him, however, clearly not happy with this answer. He, Sorin and Alin Istok had all gone to Durmstrang together, had even been in the same year, but none of them had not been sorted into the same House. He did not trust these men as a result, and was careful to control his face and demeanor to give nothing away now.

"Time is slipping by, my friend," Sorin finally replied after a minute of silence. "Perhaps it would be best to make up your mind soon."

Viktor said nothing, his hand gripping his wand a little tighter and his whole body preparing for a fight. But Sorin did not act; simply continued to puff away on his cigarette, and Viktor did not reiterate his sentiment. Finally, taking the silence as a dismissal, Sorin blew out another long breath of smoke. "I will ask you again tomorrow then," he promised, and turned away, heading back to the camp. Viktor did not look behind him, but somehow, he knew Alin was waiting for his friend, watching them from the edge of the encampment.

Only when he could no longer feel the eyes of his two schoolmates on him did Viktor relax, letting out a deep breath in relief. Tomorrow, he knew, he'd have to come up with a better answer for Sorin.

_Mii-o-nee_, he thought to the sky, _please come back soon, milla, before it is too late._

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

Draco brushed a piece of horseweed off his pant leg as sat on the beach, looking out over the waves as the low tide cycle moved in. He rested his other forearm on his knee, twirling a piece of white clover between his fingers, remembering the afternoon of Sea's burial, how he'd similarly done. _She'd_ approached him then…

He shut his eyes, trying in vain not to think of _her_ again, but it was like asking the world to stop spinning or requiring his lungs not to reach for the next breath. Granger was in his blood. He'd never be able to stop thinking of her, waking or dreaming. It had been this way for too many years, even before the war.

He gave into the memory of her gentle touch that day in Ireland. How she had voluntarily reached out and stroked the hair right above his throat's pulse with soft fingers... It had shocked him - and in seconds had made his cock so hard that he'd physically _ached_. At that moment, all he'd wanted to do was lay Granger down in the soft, green Erin grass and kiss her hard. But he'd known even then that he could never do that with her, which was why he'd pulled away in anger. Hermione did not need his attentions. She needed him to be focused and committed to ending this war, to protecting them all – most especially her, after everything she'd been through. He couldn't do that if he took her to his bed, because he wouldn't want to stop at just having her once and he knew he'd get lost in her too easily. He'd make too many mistakes if his head was besotted.

He'd almost made the mistake of kissing her in the main tent that one evening, but Pucey had interrupted. And then again he'd almost repeated the misstep here on the beach the night she'd left, only she'd pulled away at the last second. Now he realized those had been close calls. If he gave in, if he made love to her, and slipped up and she got pregnant…

…like Greengrass.

He bitterly sighed. He'd had months to rationalize in his head why he'd had sex with Astoria, but he still felt the guilt gnaw away at his guts.

It came down to a simple question: how could he have been so _bloody _stupid? He knew he should have forced the girl to Apparate back to England as soon as he'd felt himself drawn to her sexually, and gone on alone to Romania. Instead, he'd arrogantly thought he could resist her because he had resisted greater temptations in his time… but then he'd utterly lost all self-control and taken her virginity rather brutally against the wall of a bathroom, compelled by the pull of pack to dominate his female, unable to stop himself, as if he'd been _Imperius_'d. It had been _so wrong_.

But his shame hadn't ended there. No, in the weeks after he'd assaulted her, he'd treated Astoria coldly, keeping her at arm's length for sanity's sake, hurting her with his silence and stand-offish attitude. He'd treated her like a one-off whore who just wouldn't take the hint and go away. But that was because his body, despite all his mental discipline, continued to react to her presence, and the residual link to the wolf compelled him night after night to seek her out and fuck her over and over. He didn't love the pixie blonde, and he didn't want to desire her, so he refused the urge to re-mark his territory. That had meant staying the hell away from her, as far as he could get without leaving her behind on her own. It had been the toughest fight of his life, taking everything he could muster to pull off, including bombarding himself with the worst of his memories (killing his father, watching his mother take her own life, and most painful of all, Hermione naked and lying bloodied on the ground as that fucking animal, McLaggen pulled his pants back into place, smirking at him across the distance).

And now everything had changed… and yet, he'd still go on hurting Astoria for the rest of her life. Not just from the regret and the nightmares they both shared from that one incident, but by the fact that she now had a child thrust upon her – one neither of them wanted, because it only served to keep the wound open, and because they weren't in love, and the child would someday know it and resent them both for it.

And it had happened all because he'd been overconfident in his ability to fight against nature.

Thank Salazar, the need to take Astoria again was fading the longer he stayed away from the form of the wolf, though. And now that Greengrass was gone from camp entirely, he was actually beginning to conquer his unwilling lust, reasserting his human self-discipline. Eventually, he knew this feeling would entirely disappear. It would take time – weeks or maybe months - but if he ever saw her again, he'd be sure to keep his distance no matter if it were years down the line. That meant he'd have limited-to-no contact with his child. Perhaps that was for the best, though. He didn't want to risk hurting either of them or be put back into a situation that would make everyone uncomfortable.

Most importantly, he vowed he'd nevertransfigure himself again into an animal.

But that small amount of good intention couldn't undo the rest, because even if everything was resolved somehow with Astoria in the future, the damage had already been done closer to home: he'd hurt Granger with the affair. True, they had no formal commitment to each other than that of compatriots sharing a common goal, but he'd seen the look of loathing and betrayal in her eyes when she'd confronted him about the incident. He'd felt her equating his actions with Greengrass to those of that bastard, McLaggen who had taken her own innocence in a similarly vicious way, and so he was sure this incident with Astoria was something that would always hang between them, no matter how many apologies he made, no matter the nature of their relationship. In her eyes, he'd crossed a line no man ever should – that of sexual violence.

He wearily ran a hand through his long, platinum bangs.

He failed her at each turn, it seemed. He hadn't been able to save her from being raped, nor exact justice on Cormac in the intervening time, and with every death or injury to their people – including those he inflicted himself - he disappointed her. Now she was out there in enemy territory, in the second worst possible place in the whole world that she could be, trying to fix _his_ mistakes. Again.

He hated himself for all of it.

_Granger, please be safe._

"She's coming back, you know."

Zabini was almost as silent as Clearwater and Stretton when he moved. Usually, he snuck up undetected. This time, though, Draco had heard the sand crunch under his friend's feet from two meters. Blaise sauntered up alongside, staring out into the darkness of the nighttime sea, his woolen cloak billowing behind him in the chilling Arctic winds. With his all black ensemble and ebony skin, he was a striking, shadowy figure against the pale gleam of the slivered moon.

They were silent for long minutes. It was something Draco was used to by now, having known the guy since childhood. But he also knew what this tense silence meant: Blaise was about to drop a bomb on him.

"Fay didn't kidnap Astoria."

Draco narrowed his eyes, carefully considering what had just been said. His best friend had never, in all the long years they'd known each other, made a mistake about people's intentions. The guy had strong intuition and a brain that could turn over scenarios and process the particulars from all angles with amazing speed. He knew people's hearts within twenty minutes of meeting them – better than they did, in fact - and that was without the use of Legilimency. It was one of his talents. So it was that Draco had come to trust Blaise's instincts over the years, relying upon it when his own foresight was a little muddled by circumstances or feeling. "A hunch?"

Zabini turned his head. "No, the facts don't add up. Logically, this is the only answer."

If Blaise said Fay was innocent, she most likely was - which meant something else had happened to make Fay and Astoria leave camp. His suspicions from the moment he'd met the Romanian group started to coalesce into a much firmer picture now. "And the other thing we talked about?"

Blaise looked up and down the beach, making sure there was no one about to hear them. As a precaution, the wand at his side jerked in a small movement and Draco felt the pressure of a non-verbal spell cast about them both. A privacy spell. "I think you're right. Not sure yet which one it is though. Would be easier if you'd let me use Legilimency."

Draco grabbed his left forearm and rubbed the throbbing sensation away again. His Dark Mark had been flaring since he'd met up with Snape back in Tulcea, but he'd been unable to pinpoint why exactly. That's when he'd started to suspect. "I'm staying away from it, too. I don't want to tip our hand this early. We need time for Granger to get back. Whichever one it is, they'll slip up." He turned cold eyes on his friend. "I want answers before I let Cadwallader go anywhere near The Fortress. I'm not sending him into a blatant trap. _She'd_ never forgive me." He shook a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes. "Besides, I want to know how compromised we are exactly."

Blaise nodded. "No worries. We'll figure it out. I've narrowed it down to four possibilities." He coughed from deep in his chest and spit off to the side. "By the way, there's another poker game tonight. You in?"

Draco automatically shook his head. "Better not. Invite them all, though. See who shows up… and who doesn't." Zabini nodded and turned to go. Draco stopped him. "Take something for that cough. And call it a night early. And stop smoking. If you catch consumption, I'm leaving your arse behind."

Blaise chuckled. "Sure, dad." Draco turned his head and gave him a look that brooked no argument; he was serious this time. Zabini waved his hands in surrender and grinned. "Fine, I'll go see Snape for a potion." He took two steps away before stopping. "By the way, I'm pretty sure Stretton and Bradley fucked last night."

Draco rolled to his feet in one smooth gesture, tossing the clover away, and gave a small huff in amusement. "Didn't see that coming."

Blaise sighed. "I've watched them all day. It's ruined them. Will's asked not to be put on the same patrol rotation. And he's moved tents. I put him with Markham and Swann, but we might have a problem in the making."

Draco rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. He was totally exhausted, having slept little over the past few months. Burning his candle at both ends was starting to finally catch up with him. "Fuck almighty, the last thing we need is more drama and even lower morale." He looked up at his best friend. "Fix it. I don't care how. I can't have them blowing up. Not now. I need them both for what's coming."

Blaise snorted. "What do I look like, Granger?"

Draco wickedly smirked. "You've just been promoted to Mother Hen. _C__ongratulazioni!_ I could get Pucey to conjure you a nice apron with strings if you want."

Zabini exhaled through his teeth in annoyance. "Why do I _always_ get the shittiest jobs?" he complained, then spun on his heel and continued grumbling to himself as he strode back to camp.

Draco waited to follow his friend for five or so minutes, giving it time to look like they hadn't been in a private meeting, and then he went directly to his tent, stripped down and got under the covers of his cot. He desperately needed to rest. Sleep, however, eluded him for another hour, and when he finally fell under the Sandman's spell, it was once more to dreams of Granger's soft, willing body under his as he whispered his love in her ear.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

After last night's impromptu request to switch tents, and as he'd informed Draco earlier, Blaise had been watching Bradley's and Stretton's interaction carefully that afternoon and evening, cataloguing every nuance to form his conclusions of what might have happened to cause them to be at odds.

It was a puzzle easily solved the first time Will's face had reddened in Jeremy's presence (when he'd walked in at lunch to see the dark-haired man sitting and already eating). It was equally as obvious when Bradley quickly turned on his heel without a word and walked back out that he'd regretted having had sex with his friend. But then at dinnertime, Stretton entered the main pavilion and Bradley looked up and their gazes had caught, and without a word, Willem had gotten up and walked out, leaving his portions only half eaten. There had been a furious anger in the tall, blond's eyes directed at his one-time best friend, and Blaise revised his assumption, realizing that what had gone wrong between the two men went beyond just an embarrassing one-nighter. Willem apparently felt betrayed by something Jeremy had done. And just as clearly, Stretton was hurt by his lover's rejection. Blaise recognized the familiar frown, the tightening around the eyes that eloquently spoke of Jeremy being wounded. Obviously, his feelings for the big guy weren't just casual.

They needed a time-out.

That made Blaise's decision much easier.

He spied Jeremy crossing the small courtyard outside through the open flaps of the main pavilion's tent as he sat shuffling the cards for the first deal of the night. Around the table sat most of the camp, minus Malfoy (who was sleeping), Snape (who hated the cigar smoke and preferred to stay in his tent anyway, working on potions), Longbottom (who was out on patrol), Clearwater (who was also out on the perimeter), Weasley (who was in a last minute conference with Clearwater as she stood watch, getting information from her about their jump point from her memories of the location), and Rickett (who was in his tent collecting his things, as he'd been prepared by Blaise for his role in tonight's little operation in advance). This was perfect timing.

"Stretton, I need a word!" he loudly called. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Willem freeze up. Blaise stayed put, requiring Jeremy to come to him, wanting Bradley to hear the conversation.

The former Ravenclaw Chaser jogged up and through the entrance. His green-yellow eyes briefly looked to Willem, then back to Blaise. "Eh, what's up, Doc?"

Blaise grinned, recognizing the Muggle reference (Jeremy had explained it to him once before, and he still thought the idea of a cartoon, wise-cracking rabbit was brilliant). "Weasley's going on a supply run tonight. I want you and Rickett to go. I've already told him. Show the kid the ropes and keep an eye open for trouble."

Jeremy nodded without hesitation. "Where to, Kirkwall?"

Blaise shook his head. "Canterbury." He let that sink in, knowing the distance and the increased danger of Jeremy being caught in a big city now would loom over Bradley's head – and the knowledge might just get the alleged spy in their midst interested enough to make a mistake, too, as he and Draco were hoping. "Take as much as you can and don't worry about a cover up. We want the Death Eaters to know that we were there. Make them aware that we're on to their plans to block off the cities from us. Let them sweat over how we found out. Maybe they'll do us all a favor and kill each other off in suspicion."

He kept his gaze neutral, but his eyes marked everyone's reactions in a quick flash. Not a single crack from any of them except Bradley, but that was an understandable reaction in the guy's case.

"You leave as soon as Weasley's ready. Go find him."

Their best scout nodded again and turned to go without a word. Blaise stopped him with a purposefully mastered hard tone, sapping on the overly dramatic flair for this performance. "Stretton-" Jeremy hesitated and twisted back around to face him. "Make sure you reiterate to the kid what happens if any of you get caught out on mission. He needs to understand."

From the corner of his eye, Blaise caught Willem blanch, and the hand holding his cards trembled.

All of them knew their duty: if they were surrounded with no way out, they were to turn their wands on themselves. Absolutely _no_ talking. It was the only way to guarantee the safety and survival of the others, and it beat being tortured to death, which was inevitable under the hands of their enemies. This was the one thing they'd all sworn to do when they joined the group (the Romanian cell having been informed of this the morning after their arrival and all taking the vow as well). It was also the clincher as to why Blaise believed Astoria not to have been taken by force by Fay, but to have willingly gone along. Greengrass may have just been a kid, but she'd had guts and she was loyal. There was no doubt in Blaise's mind that the girl would have killed herself before she'd allow Malfoy's baby get into the hands of the Death Eaters.

Jeremy glanced at Bradley, and Willem's concerned eyes raised to his. They connected. "I understand," the dark-haired man murmured, then looked back at Blaise and nodded. "If it comes that - I'll do us both. The kid won't be taken if I can help it." With that, he was gone.

The others at the table were silent in the wake of the seriousness of the issue. Blaise let it sink in, carefully watching them all. Not a single twitch out of place or a look that was unexpected. Whichever of the four in question was the traitor, they were good.

After a minute or so, it was Adrian who made the first move towards normalcy again. "Coffee anyone? I can roast a pot. Nice and fresh."

"Yeah, I'll take some," Swann replied, a little shaken up, looking slightly ill. Poor guy. He was still rather green around the gills, having actually never been in a fight for his life before, at least according to Snape. He, Rickett, Markham and the two Romanian girls were the "battle virgins" of the group. They'd learn though - sooner, probably, rather than later, if Draco's suspicions vetted out.

There were a few echoed "hear, hear" calls around the table, Blaise included, and Pucey got up to make up some coffee for them.

He looked around at the still concerned faces of the group, especially Willem, whose upper lip was beaded with sweat and whose eyes were a little glassy now, and he decided it best to get the party rolling at that point. He was eager to test his theories on people's loyalties, and nothing helped loosen tongues (and reactions) like Yank Kentucky Bourbon. He pulled two full, unopened bottles out of his Bag of Holding and put them on the table.

"Pucey, a glass for everyone while you're up, if you please," he requested and painted a false smirk on his face. "Now, let's get this game going." He turned to his left to address the person whose cards he could clearly see from his higher vantage point. Internally, he smirked, thinking he might call for a game of strip poker if things got a little more interesting later – and once at least one bottle of Bourbon was gone. Hey, he _was _Slytherin for life, after all…

"Megan, sweetheart, place your fucking bet already. The rest of us are waiting."

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Karakachan = A ****Shepherding dog that is a descendant of the dogs of the Thracians from the 3****rd**** century B.C. Also known as the Bulgarian Shepherd. The Karakachan is a mountain ****sheep dog**** and is one of Europe's oldest breeds. Created for guarding its owner's flock and property, it does not hesitate to fight wolves or bears to defend its owner and its family in case of danger. Fiercely loyal, competent, sly, intelligent and intimidating when it needs to be, this is an excellent dog for guarding and protecting. I felt it was a good match to Theodore Nott's personality in this fanfic, so I made it his Patronus (JKR leaves Theo pretty much an unknown in her stories, so I had room to play here).**

**In case you don't know the reference to "blue shirts," "yellow shirts," or "red shirts," it is referring to the coloring schema of uniforms from "Star Trek." Jeremy Stretton loves Muggle pop culture references, and I would think he'd definitely know this show, given its worldwide popularity. This also happens to be one of my favorite television shows of all time, so I threw it in there as an homage. ****"Red shirts" are typically the characters in the "Star Trek" universe who die on missions (being placed in the dead middle of the patrol perimeter has traditionally been the point that gets it first in a fight). "Yellow shirts" tend to belong to those in command positions in "Star Trek," and "blue shirts" are the science and medicine types. In the British military, being placed on the left of a line-up typically is a more commanding position than on the right. The group uses these designations to know which type of person to send to which area (so, for instance, Viktor Krum and Willem Bradley are both large men, so they'd be in the "red shirt" position, whereas Neville is more of a "blue shirt" area type of guy and would be stationed on the right, and Penelope is more a "yellow shirt" girl, so she'd be on the left typically for patrol).**

**Rakia = A type of brandy; the national drink of Bulgaria.**

_**C**__**ongratulazioni **_**= Italian for 'Congratulations'; as his best friend, Draco knows that Blaise is half-Italian in heritage (his father's side, obviously, since the last name is 'Zabini').**

**The wise-cracking cartoon rabbit Blaise refers to is none other than Bugs Bunny (who's famous line is "Eh, what's up, Doc?"). Just in case you didn't get that reference by Jeremy either. He's beloved here in Britain, too, FYI (he's actually one of my favorite cartoon characters from my childhood; I made sure my daughter grew up on him, as well).**

"**If it comes to that… I'll do us both," is a line from the movie "ALIENS" (filmed right here in Pinewood Studios in Buckinghamshire). Remember, Jeremy loves quoting Muggle television and movies. My husband likes this film a lot, so I asked him for a line at the very beginning of writing this fanfic, thinking the dark, foreboding atmosphere I was writing was sure to accommodate something from this dark, foreboding movie, and he quoted this line for me. I **_**FINALLY**_** found a place to use it! Hooray!**


	11. Ch 10: Traitorous Heart

**Chapter Ten: **_**Traitorous Heart**_

_**The Madam's House - Stratford-On-Avon, England**_

**Sunday, September 3, 2000**

Pansy took Hermione through the corridors to the North Tower, just where she'd suspected Astoria would be held. The former Queen of Slytherin paused as soon as they'd stepped through and firmly grasped Hermione's hand in her own, pulling her along after her quickly as she headed for the second floor. At the end of the hall was a large, double-door, and with a wave of her wand, Pansy opened them ahead of her. She waved it again and they closed behind with a soft click.

The room was rather ornate, decked out nicely, but its main distinguishing features were a large oak desk to the left and a King-sized four-poster canopied bed on the right. Pansy led her to the desk and reached under it. She seemed to fiddle around for a second, and then a small crack opened up in the wall behind them. Pulling the hidden panel open, she yanked Hermione after her, then turned and shut the panel behind them, plunging them into darkness.

"No light," Pansy whispered, and once more led Hermione onward, down a straight, very narrow corridor. At the end was another door, apparently, because once it was opened, light shown through and presented another room. This was a much smaller, more private space, with the only furniture being a Queen-sized bed. There was a floo fireplace – obviously for a quick get-away and a small open closet containing a variety of clothes. On the bed lay Fay and Astoria, side by side, apparently resting.

Fay stirred, and Hermione dispelled the Disillusionment Charm immediately, pulling her hand from Pansy's sweaty palm. The Sex-Witch sat up, took one look at Hermione's face and closed her eyes in weary defeat. She made a shushing motion with her finger over her lips and indicated the sleeping Astoria in the cot next to her, and then their hostess crooked a perfectly manicured and painted fingernail at both women and directed them back out into the main office area. Both women followed Parkinson without question or noise.

As soon as the secret panel shut and the spells put in place over the walls, ceiling, floor and door to prevent eavesdropping, Hermione let fly her temper. "What the bloody hell did you think you were doing leaving without talking to any of us?" She was in Fay's face, her hands itching to wring the other woman's neck. "You've endangered Astoria, Malfoy's baby, me, Snape's spy, and the whole bloody camp with this stunt, Dunbar. You should have just come to me instead of skulking off in the middle of the night, leaving us all believing you'd kidnapped Greengrass and were a traitor."

There, she felt _MUCH_ better now that she'd gotten that off her chest. Now, she waited for a response.

Fay had calmly sat back on her bare heels and waited for Hermione's tirade to wear itself out. Then, she answered the charges levied against her. "I had no choice, Captain. We had a follower of Mr. Death Almighty sleeping in the tent right next to ours, and he'd woken up to the sound of Astoria retching that morning, the same as me. I figured he'd put it together rather fast, seeing as how she'd just arrived with him to camp a few days before. I couldn't risk Astoria being taken. If the Dark Lord got his hands on her… Let's just say I don't think he'd hesitate to use Astoria and her fetus as a double sacrifice to make a few Horcruxes, or attempt to raise the kid as his own to eventually hunt us all down one day like some sort of Anti-Christ." She pushed a hand through her long, dark bangs and exhaled loudly. "And I owed Daphne, Tori's older sister. It was a wizard's life debt. I made her a vow to find Astoria for her, and look after her until I could get passage for her off this rock." She looked Hermione in the eye. "That's the real reason why I escaped here to find you all last year. I'm sorry I lied to you, but it was necessary to guarantee Astoria's ultimate safety."

Hermione crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, not willing to make this easy on Fay. She'd been duped by her, and it was important she realize what that fraud had cost them all. "The Death Eaters followed you, though, and we lost Ernie – just to start," she hammered, knowing right where to hurt Fay. The woman had seemed a bit taken with Macmillan soon after joining them, and he with her. "And they dodged us for months after that. Justin, Lavender and Dobby died because of that attention, and Sea… well, you know what happened to him because of Brown's death. Your one careless act cost us a lot then, Fay. And this time, it has the potential to destroy a lot more. You should have come to me. I think I've more than earned your trust."

"Don't you think I wanted to?" Fay grew exasperated. "You're my Captain - one of only three women in the whole world I would give my life for, and the only one I'll take an order from! But even saying that, you have to admit that you haven't always done the right thing by Tori, Hermione. When you decided to send her off on a little honeymoon with the irresponsible golden boy, you put her at a risk greater than I ever have." She looked at her accusatorily, and Hermione felt her eyes tighten in shame at the truth. Astoria's pregnancy was partially her fault, because she'd allowed the girl to go instead of fighting Malfoy and suggesting Stretton as an alternative, as her instincts had wanted her to do to begin with.

"And I waited on pins and needles while she was away traipsing around the continent, terrified the whole time that she'd get caught by the enemy. When she finally came home, I prayed to every major religious icon I could think of in gratitude. But the party got cut short when I found out she was knocked up." She sighed, frowning. "I thought it was the worst sentence she could have been handed – impregnated by a man who didn't love her, and in such a violent way. But after calming down a bit and really thinking on it, I realized that Astoria's pregnancy could be the blessing in disguise I'd been waiting for, because I knew you'd have to send her away some place safe."

She turned and made her way to the bed, sitting heavily upon it, the weight of so many burdens pushing down her slim shoulders. "I thought the situation would provide the perfect opportunity to fulfill my oath to Daphne finally. But then Krum met us on the path back from the beach, after our little talk about Astoria's 'situation,' and he'd mentioned hearing her getting sick and offered to help me get her back to the tent, and I knew everything was fucked. That was the first time I'd actually had a chance to visually identify him. That's when I knew I had to get Tori away from the camp fast."

Hermione's stomach bottomed out. This was the name she'd so dreaded to hear from Fay's mouth – the name of their traitor.

"Viktor Krum? You're telling me he's a follower of Lord Mort?"

Fay nodded very assuredly.

Hermione's pulse pounded in her ears and she felt the gorge rise in her throat. She swallowed it, tasting burning acid all down her esophagus. Bloody, bloody, _bloody_ fucking hell! There was just no way. Viktor, a traitor? No, absolutely not. He was a good man, devoted and loyal. His actions bore that out. He'd never stopped writing to her all the years they'd been apart, until the war began and it had become impossible for them to keep in touch through the miles and circumstances that separated them. When he'd seen her again for the first time that night Snape brought his group into camp, his laughter and enthusiasm had seemed genuine as he'd captured her in his burly arms and twirled her about in the air. He'd told her that he'd never forgotten her, and that he'd cherished their correspondence, he'd held her tenderly when she'd cried over her decision to send Cadwallader into The Fortress undercover, and he'd kissed her sweetly before she'd left to come here, whispering something in her ear in his native language which she had a sneaky suspicion had been an openly declared vow of his feelings for her. There was _no way_ anyone could fake that kind and depth of attachment for that long…

And yet, the voice of reason in her head reminded her, it also seemed strange that he'd come on so strongly again after not hearing from him for over two years. Why _had_ he been so hot and heavy to pick their romance back up? That seemed rather odd, in retrospect. Sure, they were in the middle of a war, and fast romances were the norm (just look at Penelope and Neville – they were engaged only a little over a month after getting together), but still, it seemed a bit off that Viktor would attempt to resume intimacies with her so quickly.

"Where's your proof?" she whispered as a heavy ache settled in her chest.

Pansy touched her gently on the arm then, her eyes just as shocked by the news. "I remember Krum coming here, Granger. It was only once, early last year before Fay had left, but he was _definitely_ with a group of Death Eaters and Snatchers. I remember him from the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Fay leaned back on her hands. "That was the year my parents pulled me out and sent me to Muggle Secondary School, if you'll recall, so I wasn't at Hogwarts then. I didn't come back until Sixth Year, when they finally relented and let me back into the wizarding world. I only ever knew Krum from my time here in The Madam's House." She blew air against her bangs to get them to move out of her face. "I wanted to tell you all of this before we left, Captain, but there was no chance. Krum was always around you or watching you from nearby. And I couldn't risk approaching you because I was afraid he'd hear me rat him out and do something rash."

"Why didn't you recognize him the night he and the others came into camp?" Hermione persisted, still unsure as to whether she could trust Fay's version of events or not.

"It was dark, if you'll recall, and I was in the far back where you put me when they came up to us," she explained. "Then we split up to get things ready. I went with Clearwater to help set up the tents, and after that, directly to bed. I never physically saw Krum that night, and you only referred to him as 'Viktor,' when you greeted him, never by his last name, which was how I'd heard him called when he came here that one time."

Hermione considered the facts; they _seemed_ to fit. "What about the days in between the night Snape and the others arrived, and when you came to my tent that morning about Astoria's problem?"

"I'd been… busy… with some of the men in camp," she coughed delicately. "Wood, Rickett, Zabini and Weasley. I hadn't seen Krum at all during that time."

Hermione's eyebrows shot down in disbelief. "How in the five levels of the labyrinth could you accommodate four men in four days, plus have time for your patrols, meals and caretaking of Astoria? Not to mention the late-night poker games?"

For the first time ever, Hermione saw Fay's cheeks light up like a Christmas tree topper. "Captain, if you want the blow-by-blow account of my time with the boys, I'll concede to the telling, but pull up a chair because it'll take hours." She gave Hermione a knowing look. "I _am_ a Sex-Witch, remember, and I crave physical intimacy. I won't apologize for that."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "And I'm not asking you to. But _you're_ asking me to take your word that Viktor Krum is a spy and traitor, when everything that's occurred points the finger to you instead. People _died_ after you came to us, Dunbar, and it seems a strange coincidence to me that we've been hounded by Death Eaters ever since."

Fay looked at her hard, her mouth taut in a thin, disapproving line. "Fine. Pansy, go get the Veritaserum."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't bother. I've got a faster way of discovering the truth."

Dunbar raised a delicate eyebrow at her. "I thought Legilimency was a no-no as far as you're concerned."

It was, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Hermione wanted the truth of the matter directly, and wouldn't risk Fay being some sort of hidden Occlumens who could overcome truth serum and twist the facts around. "Under normal circumstances, I'd be appalled I was even considering this," she admitted. "But this isn't a normal circumstance. You made sure of that the night you took off and didn't tell any of us where you were going or why."

Fay threw her hands up in the air in surrender. "Then look in my bloody head for the truth, Captain. Use Legilimency on me. I give you full permission to. I've got nothing to hide."

Now that her bluff had been called, Hermione considered the plan seriously. Mind magic was a line she simply didn't cross. To poke around in people's brains was the ultimate violation. Yet, in this case, it would be the only way to distinguish the truth; it was the doing of a small evil that would serve a greater good. Hermione knew she had little choice if she wanted to find out whether Viktor Krum was working against them. And she _really_ wanted to know the truth of this matter.

She came around to sit on the large bed across from Fay and made herself comfortable. Fay crossed her legs and readied herself. Hermione pressed her wand to the other woman's temple with great regret. "I'm… sorry," she apologized.

Fay calmly gazed at her. "Just get it over with."

Hermione sighed. "_Legilimens_," she cast and was instantly transported into Fay's memories, where she freely shifted around in them…

_It is the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Death Eaters have come to Fay's home finally, tracking down everyone who fought on the losing side of the war. She had been among the number of Gryffindors who had barely escaped the slaughter after Lord Mort rose to power, and she had run home to get her family the hell out of Britain immediately. But Graham Montague and his three black cloaked friends had easily tracked her here. He rapes her now on the floor of her living room right in front of her terrified Muggle parents and her non-magical six and eight year old brother and sister. She remembers this man from school; he'd been a year above her, in Slytherin. He sneers at her the whole time he's pumping his disgusting, waxy body into hers, calling her Mudblood so many times that the word doesn't even register anymore. _

_When he finishes, he pulls out, and doesn't even adjust his clothing as he turns and kills her entire family one at a time in quick succession with a few well timed Avadas. The other Death Eaters in the room are laughingly counting down as each of the four bodies slumps over, lifeless. Fay is forced to watch, helpless because Montague is using __her__wand__ to destroy her life. _

_When he has finished his gruesome task, her tormentor leans back over and fucks her again, filling her up with his nasty, burning semen a second time. She stares silently up at the white, flocked ceiling, too shocked to fight back anymore, her tears dripping silently down her cheeks. She prays for a quick death._

Time blurs the images in fast forward.

_It has been a little over three months since Fay has been brought here to The Madam's House, she thinks. She doesn't exactly know how much time has passed precisely, because her room has no window to mark the motion of the sun, so she guesses based upon her menses. Three periods, three months. _

_Like all of the girls here, she has been magically tattooed as a slave on her right ankle, Imperiused not to try to kill herself, and ordered to see to every client's needs without complaint and with enthusiasm. Both are long-standing spells that she cannot break without a wand – which is impossible to get a hold of in here. And her mind is not powerful enough to fight against Phaedra's will. There is no escape anyway. The entire place is magicked to prevent apparition and portkey travel from within the walls outward. There does not seem to be any fireplaces, so no floo either. There is a bubble shield on all of the windows, preventing a more desperate person from jumping. The only way in or out is the front entrance, but the tattoo's magic prevents her from utilizing this portal, causing the Cruciatus Curse to automatically activate should she step a toe out the door. She is trapped in hell._

_Montague visits her at least once a week, sometimes twice. He is disgusting and evil, and after he has finished with her, if she can manage to crawl to her bed pan, she vomits every time. After one session where she is left panting and bloodied on the floor by him, Pansy Parkinson approaches her. When they are alone, she asks Fay if she wants to take revenge on Graham someday soon. Fay readily agrees in exchange for working for the resistance secretly. _

_Over the following weeks, she takes on more Death Eater clients, and learns to hone her innate abilities – she is a Sex-Witch, it seems. Pansy asks another woman forced to work here, Daphne Greengrass - a girl who had been in her grade at school, but in Slytherin House - to teach her how to use her aura to make these desperate, evil men want her enough to spill their secrets to her._

More time passes in the blink of an eye.

_Pansy had set Graham up perfectly and he was executed today by his "friends" out in the street for everyone to witness. Fay wishes she could have seen him fall to the Killing Curse personally. She also thinks he died too quickly for what he has done. If only the evil bastard had suffered a little longer… That would have been proper justice. But, maybe now that she doesn't have to fuck him again, she can finally feel a little less dirty._

Time shifts again in a blur.

_Daphne volunteered to trade off with Fay for Terrence Higgs last night, and now her beautiful breasts and abdomen are forever scarred by his attentions. No amount of wand or potion healing will fix that broken look in her eyes, either. _

_For all her cruelty, Phaedra did not take the knifing of one of her girls well. She had the mutilating bastard killed by her blond lover immediately after the attack, but to Fay's way of thinking, it still doesn't seem to be justice. And the guilt is inconsolable. It should have been her, Fay knows, but Daphne had been trying to spare her Higgs' notice. A wizard's life debt is the only thing she can offer now. Her friend collects immediately._

"_Find my little sister, Astoria, and if she's alive, get her to safety. She's a member of the resistance, too."_

_Fay nods in acceptance, vowing on her own powers to do as she has been asked. That night, she plans her break-out from The Madam's House with Pansy's help._ _Her friend gives her back her wand, which she has stolen from under her mother's very nose, and has managed to get a floo set-up in her secret bedroom's fireplace, but can only use it when her mother is sufficiently distracted. Thankfully, Theodore Nott – Pansy's contact to the resistance – has agreed to come the next night to provide that much needed amusement. And he has agreed to open the floo in one of his secret flats in London for Fay to make good her escape. She burns the tattoo off her body with her restored wand, and creates a portkey for this specific location from one of Pansy's earrings, just in case. She knows it would be a one-way port travel if she ever used it, as she wouldn't be able to get back out again because of the wards around this place, but she just might need to come back here for some reason in the future. Fay believes in being prepared for all contingencies, whenever possible._

_This is her only chance for freedom from this nightmare life. And she is determined that she will not fail Daphne, Pansy or Theo. She will find the headquarters of the insurrection here in the U.K., no matter how long it takes, and she will beg her comrades-in-arms on her knees, if need be, to help her find Astoria!_

A month and a half later.

_Fay has finally found Tori living amongst this group of strong, caring idealists who are led by her old school idol, Hermione Granger, and the aloof Slytherin Prince himself, Draco Malfoy. She has joined them, keeping a careful eye on her charge day in and out until they can find a safe place to jump off the island from. Unfortunately, they've stayed mostly to the interior so far, and not close enough to any ports for her to make an escape with Astoria in tow. She'll have to wait and bide her time._

_It's not so bad here, though. The late-night patrols, working on strengthening her spell casting abilities, and the day-to-day chores around camp are a welcome new duty roster that she does not begrudge in the slightest. This is a dream vacation compared to what she has had to do to survive this war to date. She __is__ finding it hard to accept that she can willingly now give herself to whomever she chooses, however. No more being forced. No more being terrified of a strange face at her door, wondering if the man would revel in hurting her or just get it over with quickly and unemotionally. The freedom here is glorious. _

_And oddly enough, the men here look at her with genuine respect and friendliness, as well, especially Ernie. He has given her hand-picked flowers twice now, and when he comes to her at night in the tent she shares with Astoria, he is tender and whispers sweet things to her. Maybe she could let herself believe in this feeling she has growing for him. _

Another month goes by.

_Ernie died this morning in an attack by Death Eaters. The sun is setting now and Fay cries her loss alone in her tent, refusing to watch the man she'd secretly started to fall for being buried in the cold, unfeeling earth. _

_That night, weeping into her pillow, she resolves never to give her love away. From now on, she will hold her heart close, take what little physical pleasures she can from this short, unhappy life, and when she dies, there will be no one to mourn her as she mourns Ernie. She swears it._

The distorting images become nauseating as they fly by super quick.

_It has been five months since she joined this family, and they jump around too often for her to make a break with Astoria anytime soon. She curses her own weak magic for not being able to apparate them out of there together immediately. But she never learned that skill, having missed two whole years of training because her parents had put her in that insipid Muggle High School instead. So now she must wait for a chance to leave on foot, or use the portkey Pansy had given her to return to The Madam's House directly – something she loathes to do unless absolutely necessary. Her only choice is to patiently wait for a chance that looks good enough to take._

_In the meantime, she __is__ getting rather good at card games. Jeremy has been teaching them all how to play a Muggle game called poker and so far, she has won more hands than lost. She is enjoying the late night talk sessions with the others during these games, too. It is interesting to hear the different background stories for her comrades. Fay never shares the details of her life with them, but she listens. And she can't help but watch them. They are all beautiful men and she adores them. She does with them what a Sex-Witch does best, and for once in her life, she doesn't feel dirty doing it, because each one of them makes her feel special._

_Willem always takes her hard and fast with his powerful, firmly-muscled body, and she coaxes him on with dirty words and tolerates from him the occasional light spank, because he needs to feel that he is a sex god and she likes their rushed, naughty couplings anywhere and anytime. He is the spontaneous one who takes her breath away._

_Phil has bad nightmares, so on nights when he doesn't just come and lay in her arms to sleep, he works them both up into a long, panting sweat with hours of foreplay and penetration just so he can exhaust his mind. That he enjoys performing oral on her makes her feel extremely wanted. He is truly magical with his tongue._

_Jeremy is a dark dominant in bed, but he always treats her tenderly even as he commands her to do things for his pleasure. His piercing, green eyes watch her throughout it all with an intensity that makes her sopping wet, even out of bed. She is __seriously__ attracted to Jeremy Stretton and she thinks that feeling goes both ways. She must guard her heart carefully around him._

_Seamus is so twisted up by Lavender's death that he is lost in the bedroom, so Fay is the one to direct his movements, and she always assures he reaches his physical pleasure before he starts crying in her arms. She holds him for as long as he needs, knowing in her soul that he will not be around much longer. She will give him what she can in the time he has remaining, though. Perhaps he will find some small peace from a woman's touch._

_Blaise always brings her over to his bed for sex, and he takes his time with her, allowing her to top him as often as she wants and assuring she cums right along with him every time. They even talk during the act, assuring each other's comfort and enjoyment. He is a soft, careful lover, despite his immense size, and he never fails to assure that she is well cared for before she leaves him._

_Adrian likes to play and tease in bed. He is far too silly to take even sex seriously. Sometimes, he tickles her into submission before joining their bodies. Occasionally, they end up laughing so hard that they can't finish. Of all her current bedmates, he is the one she most enjoys spending time with because he is lighthearted. He gives her some small amount of hope for the future._

_These men need her, she realizes then. And she on so many levels, needs them – mostly, though, to help her forget her past and the war, even if only for a little while._

More months pass.

The night the perimeter alarm goes off repeats, and Hermione sees that Fay has spoken the truth to her; the woman does not see Viktor that night, moving off to help Clearwater and then going straight to her cot to sleep.

_Oliver Wood comes to her tent after lunch the next day. He has a charming, boyish smile and his eyes haven't lost their twinkle despite everything he's probably seen throughout the course of the war. He flirts outrageously with her, and they head down to the beach together, talking and sharing a few laughs about inconsequential, silly things. They take their clothes off to swim, but after deciding that the water is much too cold, they sink down onto the sun warmed sand together, sitting on their dark cloaks. _

_The next thing she knows, Oliver's mouth is buried between her legs, and Merlin, he is very good at this! She presses her wand to her abdomen to speak the anti-conception and anti-disease charms, and then lays back and enjoys what he is doing to her. Right as she climaxes, he leans up over her and enters her and stares at her the whole time he moves in and out of her body, occasionally giving her a mysterious smile. The entire time they have sex, her aura is still, unprovoked. Like Jeremy, this man makes Fay hot for him without the use of her powers. She closes her eyes and gives herself over to the feeling of skin on skin alone._

_In the blissful aftermath, Oliver kisses her temple and thanks her. They return to camp soon after redressing and he gives her an impish grin to let her know he'll look for her again soon. Then he's off on patrol. _

_That night in the main tent for supper, Fay takes an open chair next to the devilishly handsome Kenny Markham at the end of the table closest to the exit. They chat for a while, and he is amicable, but too young for her tastes – just barely seventeen. She will not be sleeping with him or his equally as youthful friend, Swann. They do spend time chatting though, and it is light, easy conversation._

_As if on impulse, she looks around and spies the man whom she has been told tames dragons sitting at the far opposite end of the room. She remembers Charlie Weasley's younger brother, Ron, from school. They'd fought on the same side in the war, too. The brothers share the same shock of crimson hair and aqua-colored eyes, but where she remembers her schoolmate as being very tall and lanky – coming in around 1.89 meters, Charlie is slightly shorter – approximately 1.82 meters, broader of shoulder, larger of bicep, and like Willem, packed with defined muscle. She doubts there's more than a centimeter or two of fat on him. He is obviously built for power lifting. She feels a thrill course through her veins at the thought of all that strength. His sun-kissed tan, she notes, is fading, and the freckles across the bridge of his nose appear to have lightened, indicating he's been indoors more of late than not. He pushes his long, straight bangs off his left eye, tucking them back behind his ear as he looks up, and they lock gazes in that moment - and it is __positively__electric__. He is intensely attracted to her; she can sense his lust on the air. _

_Abruptly, Charlie pushes his nearly full plate away and stands up, leaving the table. His anger simmers all around him as he stalks out of the pavilion, and the more sensitive members of their group notice the magical disturbance, their heads jerking up to follow the redhead's progression out of the tent, wondering, like Fay, at his strange mood. _

_That evening, Oliver comes to her tent while Astoria is on patrol. They have only an hour before her friend will be back, she informs him, and so they rush into sex. Of course, Fay does not forget to take the necessary precautions, however. She would never endanger herself or her mission by being so foolish. After Oliver leaves, Fay sleeps soundly, her mind, body and aura sated._

The next morning comes into focus as Fay opens her eyes, gets up, and prepares for her day by cleaning herself with her wand and spritzing on some of the perfume Hermione had stolen for her during the last raid.

_At the breakfast table, Fay connects gazes with Charlie Weasley again. This time he does not leave; he stays and finishes his meal. As he stares down the length of the long, wooden table at her, he locks his jaw and then his lips curl up in a sneer. Fay feels the first stirrings of anger in her gut as she realizes that he is negatively judging her. Apparently, word has gotten around camp since his arrival that she is a Sex-Witch. In that moment, she wants nothing more than to smack the sanctimonious look off his face, but keeps a polite restraint in public, concentrating on finishing her meal instead of on his handsome, git face._

_By one o'clock, Anthony Rickett has come to see her in her tent. This time, Astoria is there, but they have lived together long enough for her to know the prearranged signs and so the younger girl leaves rather quickly. _

_Tony is completely forthcoming with his reasons for being there, having been told what she is. He lacks tact, but she soon realizes that's because he's inexperienced with women. When it becomes obvious that he can't kiss properly and he's too nervous, she asks him softly if he's ever done this before. Blushing cutely, he admits that he's a twenty-one year old virgin and he wants to know how to do "it" properly - that's why he's come to her. Fay is flattered instead of insulted, because he has just told her that he trusts her with something this important, so she agrees to teach him. She realizes with a start that she is going to take a man's virginity for the first time, and the idea is both daunting and exciting. _

_She starts by showing him how to undress a woman seductively and where and how to touch her body, including how much pressure to exert. Next, she moves him into learning how to use his mouth on a female properly. They take their time and he eventually masters the techniques she teaches him. When he is ready, Fay then shows this shy lover how to cast the anti-pregnancy and anti-disease charms – they do it together so he is sure of the words and the movements – and then they finally get down to intercourse. More than once during the act, they stop to give him a few seconds to regain some control. Fay waits him out patiently, knowing how important this experience is for him. She encourages him to hold back his natural urges, and tells him that the measure of a good man is how he cares for his partner's pleasure before his own. In this way, she is training him not to objectify women, but to revere them, and she hopes the lesson sticks in his mind every time he takes a girl to bed hereafter. _

_In the afterglow, Tony admits that he is embarrassed that he didn't bring her to climax during the sex act, but Fay delights his ego by whispering how good he felt inside of her, how the size of him is just perfect, how he'd made her feel so good with his tongue and fingers earlier, and how he had amazing stamina for a virgin – which is all true. Very soon, her words have reassured him that he is on his way to being an extremely good lover, and it is with a goofy grin on his handsome face that Anthony leaves her tent that evening. Fay feels tingly inside knowing she gave that confidence to him and that she made his first time memorable._

_She cleans herself up and joins the others at the dinner table. Charlie is not there tonight, she notes absently. She forcibly reminds herself not to care._

_The next morning, Fay is met on the way to breakfast by Oliver, who walks with her the rest of the way into the main pavilion. He flirts outrageously with her, but does not make any overtures for a rendezvous. They sit next to each other at the table, but it is Blaise Zabini to her right that captures her attention. He leans over and whispers in her ear a request for her to come to his tent this afternoon after lunch. She nods her head, and then they join the main table in the discussion for the day – lessons for all of the Romanian cell members, so they can share tactics and magical knowledge. Jeremy and Willem will conduct the first session coincidentally after lunch, which means her and Blaise will have plenty of alone time to spend together._

_She has purposefully been ignoring Charlie's end of the table, but when he speaks up, she can't help but look. He has volunteered to be the first on the Romanian cell side to teach the spells he knows – including two he has invented himself – tomorrow. The sound of his tenor reverberating through the tent magnetically pulls her eyes to his, and Fay is helpless but to look up. His gaze flickers between her, Oliver and Blaise and then he narrows his eyes knowingly. Fay turns her head away disdainfully, and spends the rest of the meal absorbing the conversations around her, ignoring Charlie Weasley completely._

_That afternoon, around one, Fay visits Blaise's tent. He is lying on his cot, reading a book, waiting for her. She waves her wand over the canvas enclosure for privacy, then performs the necessary charms on her abdomen, and starts to remove her clothing. Putting his book down, Blaise watches her strip for him, his dark chocolate eyes warmly taking in each of her unhurried, deliberate movements. Taking charge of what goes on in the bed between them is something Blaise encourages in her, and the power this gives her makes her feel beautiful and strong. This is his unspoken gift to her in exchange for allowing him access to her body._

_When she is naked before him, she leans over him on the cot and lays on top of him, pressing in close for a kiss. His large hands cup her face as he takes her mouth lingeringly, sweetly. His sexual technique is much the same when he finally enters her: deep strokes coupled with slow movements. As always, he asks her if he is hurting her and she shakes her head, unable to speak because the energy between them is too profound. Only after she orgasms does he let himself follow her. In the aftermath, he allows her to stay for as long as she'd like; she is free to come and go in his life as she pleases. But Fay never sleeps with a man after the sex is finished, so she gets up and redresses as usual, and then allows him a final kiss before leaving. _

_As she makes her way back to her own tent to freshen up before her scheduled patrol in an hour, she spies Malfoy watching Granger again across the open camp area and wonders whether the two of them will figure each other out in time. Life is too short for regrets._

_Later that evening, after her patrol is finished, Fay catches a quick bite to eat in the main tent, and only Adrian, Anica and Snape are present. She has never been comfortable in the presence of her former Potions Master, so their conversation is short and consists of few words. Without intending to, her powers reach out and feel his aura however, and something about it is very familiar… It is only when she is walking back to her tent does she realize that Snape's energies are almost identical to Theodore Nott's. She wonders why that is. _

_When the sun is completely gone from the sky for the day, she spies Charlie Weasley walking off by himself into the field of tall grass surrounding their encampment. She stealthily follows, making sure not to alert him to her presence. They are far away from camp when he finally turns and confronts her, knowing she is there. It is the first time in a long time Fay has been bested by a man, and this draws her to him even more. They stand silently next to each other, looking out into the blackness of the night for a long while, and she tentatively feels his aura. He is incensed with her, but she does not understand why. Finally, he asks her what she wants. She tells him bluntly that she wants him for the night. He looks over at her, twirling a blade of grass between his strong, thick fingers, considering her words for a good few minutes. Then he rudely asks her if she really is the camp slag. Instead of getting upset, she smirks and counters by asking him if he really is the camp prude. He turns his back on her immediately and heads back towards the light without another word. _

The memories skip to the next morning, when Astoria wakes Fay up to the sound of her vomiting. After the interlude on the beach with Hermione, the two women return to her tent after meeting up with Hermione. As she pulls back the fabric to re-enter, her arm firmly around a crying Astoria, she sees Krum for the first time exiting the tent next door. He asks her if everything is okay in his broken English, says he heard the sounds of someone vomiting and in distress and wonders if there is anything he can do to help. She feels Fay's moment of dread and panic upon realizing who Viktor is, and hears the lies she tells the Bulgarian wizard as she quickly makes her way back into the tent and ties it off. She waits until she hears his feet move off and then she begins pacing back and forth, her hands tearing at her hair in desperate terror. Astoria becomes frightened, and it is then that Fay tells her what she has seen. They make plans to escape the camp later that night, when the majority are asleep. Fay knows the patrol schedule, so she picks her own time slot and position to make good their escape.

_An hour after dinner, despite the sun still in the sky, Astoria is already asleep in her cot, exhausted from an emotionally gut-wrenching day. Fay has just finished bathing using magic, and now she dries her long, chestnut brown hair with another wave of her wand. Tired, she lies down as well, knowing she will need to rest before she and Astoria attempt their getaway, but try as she might, she cannot sleep. Her mind whirls over the memory of supper, specifically, of the heated, furious glare she had received down the table from a pair of aqua-colored eyes after Oliver Wood had leaned over and whispered in her ear that he'd like to walk with her again on the morrow. She'd pretended not to notice Weasley's glowering, and accepted Oliver's offer with a gracious, faked smile, knowing she would not be able to meet him and feeling sorry for it. She hadn't felt much like eating after that, but she'd forced herself, unsure as to when the next good meal would come her way. As soon as she'd finished, she'd Scourgify'd her dishes, cup and utensils, thanked Adrian for another wonderful meal, and took some food back to her tent for Astoria. She'd felt Charlie's gaze boring into her back the entire time, but ignored him._

_Now, a presence unexpectedly slips into her tent, and automatically, Fay knows it is __him__; she can feel Weasley's incensed aura lashing out against hers through the distance between them. It's the first time she's ever felt that much sexual and emotional energy before without physically touching a person. She wonders why he is able to alter her aura as he does. _

_She looks up as he removes his clothes silently, realizing why he has come. Without a second thought, she waves her wand over the tent once more setting the privacy spells, and then casts over Astoria, assuring the girl will hear and see nothing as she is pulled into a very deep, restful sleep that tunes out all of her senses. Before she can think to do more, however, he is standing over her completely naked, his beautiful, muscular body taut and straining before her eyes. His chest and arms and thighs have random, ragged claw scarring, but strangely, they do not detract from his overall attractiveness, only enhance it. He looks down at her through half-lidded, desirous eyes and with his right hand, strokes his massive cock a few times, letting her get a good, long look at what will soon be buried inside of her. She watches the skin of his uncircumcised crown pull back and grow taut as he becomes aroused before her eyes, and the tip glistens wetly already. He is superbly thick and stands proudly erect in seconds and she feels her throat tighten in craving, wanting to know how he tastes. Below, two heavy, large sacks dangle between the juncture of his thighs enticingly, and she wonders how they would feel rolling between her fingers. _

_In a single fluid motion, he kneels to her side, pulls the covers away and yanks Fay up a little roughly. The wand drops from her numb fingers as he proceeds to divest her of her clothing without a word spoken between them. She does nothing to hinder or help him, simply waits and watches as he defies the emotions rolling off of him by gently kissing her from her ankles all the way up her legs to her Mons Venus. His long, red, straight hair has been set free of its leather throng and it silkily glides across her skin as he moves along her body. When he dips his tongue into her already soaking core to taste her for the first time, she is shocked to come immediately. Even more surprising, his touch brings her again only minutes later as he delves his fingers in to join with his mouth. Is he a Sex-Warlock? She does not know, as she has never encountered one before. But his aura is __so__ powerful. _

_When he finally mounts and enters her, it is ecstasy to feel him slide in slowly until their bodies are married completely and their cores are locked together. He does not move immediately, though. Instead, as he wraps his scarred and calloused hands through her still damp strands and nuzzles her throat, he whispers hotly in her ear that he doesn't want to want her like this, that he knows she is a whore, but that he can't help himself. He admits that she is beautiful, and that she inflames him, and that he has never desired any woman more, even though they have just barely met. His heart, he finally submits in part resentment, part disbelief, is no longer his own. Fay recognizes instantly that this is not just pretty flattery; she feels his wild magical energies slide across hers echoing the same truth as his words. _

_They don't have sex then. He makes love to her. _

_Despite his simmering anger, Charlie is tender, worshipping her with long, slow strokes, and alternating between tonguing her mouth and sucking and biting her nipples as he moves in her. He does not increase his pace as she climaxes a third time under him, instead maintaining his speed and working her slowly back up once more. The ambient light in the tent dims as the sun sets, and the increasing shadows and encroaching darkness heightens the sensations of touch, taste, sound and smell as sight is slowly taken away. His aura caresses hers again and again fiercely shoving his desire into her, but not taking back from her, as if he were wary to fall under her sway._

_Frustrated by the way he batters at her emotional defenses and frightened by how she is feeling, Fay reaches up and hungrily bites his lips, gouges his shoulders with her nails, and thrusts up against him in a haze of uncontrollable sexual hunger. Her powers are rioting now, wrapping them both up in a wave of all-consuming lust the likes of which she has never experienced before. Charlie is as helpless to resist her now as she is him. He increases his pace until he is pounding her into her cot with a strength that borders on pain, hitting the bundle of nerves at the gateway to her womb again and again and… oh, gods… again! She gasps into his mouth and he captures her breath as she exhales, growling low in his throat. _

_Somehow, Charlie finds enough sanity in the middle of it all to ask her if she likes him fucking her and, by some miracle, she is able to reply in a coherent, low moaning voice: yes, she __loves__ this… and she wants more - everything he can give her. She knows he can feel the genuineness of her words through their embracing auras; it is impossible to lie to each other anymore. She begs him to go faster and harder and deeper and to come in her very womb, and he whimpers in both pain and excitement as he adjusts their hips so he can comply with her demands. The new angle is perfect. She is wailing on the cusp when he begs her to climax for him one more time and she does, like magic. He joins her a step behind with a shout of her name, his pulsing, vibrating life force enveloping hers completely in a cocoon of safety and warmth and a need so great that it causes her very soul to shudder. His hot seed shoots into her body, filling her up, taking her to heaven._

_After they have relaxed and calmed, Charlie pulls out of her with a resigned sigh, his thick, long cock dripping with their combined fluids, sliding across her thigh as he moves away. As he redresses silently, she struggles to keep her emotions in check, but it is a herculean task that she is no longer up to facing. Instead, she silently simmers. She hasn't felt hurt like this since… ever… and she knows then that fate has played a cruel trick on her; she cannot possibly keep her personal vow, as she is hauntingly, persuasively drawn to this puzzling, infuriating man. In that moment, she both loves and despises him for making her know these feelings burning up her heart, because she knows that after tonight, she will not see him again. She will go on and on with this painful, unfulfilled ache in her chest all the rest of her life because of __him__. _

"_I hate you," she whispers in the safety of the now dark tent and starts to cry with shuddering gasps, wrapping her arms about herself and scrunching her legs up to her chest protectively. _

_Charlie does the absolute unforgivable then: he kneels down in front of her, as if proposing marriage, reaches out and lays a trembling hand on her cheek, wiping away her tears. He then leans in to sweetly kiss her and in a husky, yet tender voice, he admits his final truth to her._

"_I love you."_

_His aura, and fingers, and lips stroke her tentatively one last time, eternal devotion promised in those touches, and Fay knows she is forever lost as she comprehends the honesty of his declaration and what this means for her: she will never be able to give herself to another man again when she leaves here tonight. Charlie Weasley has ruined her. _

_Reluctantly, he pulls away and is gone in a few quick strides, and she is left half a vessel, neither alive nor dead, but a little of both. When she finally lies down tiredly, she wills her tears to stop, but they don't listen._

_Hours later, she and Astoria hurry through the tall grass to the very edge of the base's perimeter. When they are far enough way not to trigger the magical alarms, she turns back towards the camp sadly and says a final goodbye to the friends and family she has made over the last year, and to the new people she has come to know and share herself with over the past few days, and to the one man who has stolen her soul. "Charlie…" she whispers his name on the wind, and Astoria looks up at her shocked, and then with a perceptive sadness and an eloquent pity. Brushing away her tears with the back of her hand, she grabs a hold of Tori's arm, takes up the portkey she's secretly kept with her all these months, and activates it, closing her eyes. There is that strange pulling sensation in her spine and guts, and within seconds, she and her friend tump down inside Pansy Parkinson's hidden bedroom. _

_Fay has completed the first of her mission. Now she will find her old Slytherin madam, convince Pansy to help them escape to America, and then all that will be left will be making their way to California. And as soon as they are safe in San Francisco, Fay believes she can finally lay her past to rest and that she will be vindicated, having fulfilled her wizard's oath to Daphne. Perhaps there will even be a day far off in the future, she hopes, when her heart will eventually stop calling out for __him__…_

Hermione pulled away, shivering from the riot of shared emotions and the memories.

It was all true. Hermione knew that now. Viktor Krum was their traitor.

She let go of Dunbar's mind completely, ending the spell, tears pouring down her cheeks. She wasn't crying for herself, oddly enough, but for Fay. Recalling the life the little Sex-Witch had suffered before she'd joined Hermione's group… How could anyone have endured that? And why would she use that as a crutch to prevent her from finding true happiness with Charlie Weasley? Her denial of him... it was heartrendingly tragic.

Fay looked away in shame. "Don't feel sorry for me," she beseeched. "You've seen firsthand who I am and what I've done over the last few years. I'm a _whore_, Hermione. That's my nature imposed on me by my magic, whether I asked for it or not, and in the end, Charlie won't be able to accept what I am and what I've done. He's too good a man to want someone like me." She rubbed a hand over her eyes tiredly. "Getting to California is all I have left now, so please don't take that from me."

Something inside of Hermione screamed in righteous indignation. It wasn't fair! Fay had suffered so much, and to be parted from the one man she wanted because she had an oath to fulfill, and because she felt trapped by who and what she was at the core of her being…

…bloody hell, but that sounded like Hermione's own situation with Malfoy, didn't it?

As she stared at her former Gryffindor housemate, she had one of those unexpected, sudden revelations that sometimes comes over a person: she had not just come here to this Circe-forsaken place to save Astoria, but also Fay. And in doing so, to save herself.

Firmly turning Dunbar's face to her by grasping her chin and forcing her around, Hermione locked eyes with the Sex-Witch and didn't back down, her mind clear of purpose for the first time in days. "You've been hurt and abused and disappointed too much in your adult life, Fay. I get that. _Really_, I do. But don't you see? Your _true_ _nature_ – the one you despise so much, that of a Sex-Witch – it isn't a curse to separate you from people like you believe, but just the opposite. It's meant to bring you together." She waved her free hand at the room around them. "What you do is not just about the unemotional, hateful fucking that goes on in a place like this house, or the one-night stands you sometimes give in to, but it's how you make people _feel_," she explained sincerely. "For a short while, you do what people like me can't: you allow good men to think they are special and wanted and powerfully sexy, and that's a form of love in and of itself. You can try shielding your heart from the idea, but your _real_ fate, Fay, is to give and receive love."

Dunbar looked at her skeptically and pulled away, sitting back. Hermione tsk'd in annoyance that her message wasn't getting through. She tried again - and she would continue to do so until Fay believed her. "Look, haven't you been paying attention to how your presence around the camp has brought everyone closer together this past year? Sure, your style is a bit… unconventional… but you have to admit that the guys love having you around, and not just for your body. Think about all the times you've sat with them and played poker, or shared a meal, or volunteered to take each other's patrols and duties. You're all friends, not just bed buddies. You're not just another - pardon my crudeness - hole to fill. Not to Will, Phil, Jeremy, Adrian and Blaise. You weren't to Ernie or Seamus either. You're _their_ girl, Fay. You're the one who keeps them happy, who frees them, who dares them, who teaches them, and who comforts them. No one else gives them that but _you_." She put her hands on the younger woman's shoulders and stared her down. "And as for Charlie… I've known the Weasleys for years through my friendship with Ron. I spent Christmases and Easters with them, and I stayed for summers at The Burrow. Weasleys are honest to a fault; there isn't a bone in their bodies that is insincere or untrue. So if Charlie told you he loves you, he meant it, Fay. And from your memories you shared with me, I know you love him the same way he does you. So I don't see why you two can't go together with Astoria to San Francisco. Then, you can give all of that love that you spread around to others to him alone, like you were meant to, and you'll have fulfilled your oath to Daphne at the same time."

Fay stared up at her with wide, glossy eyes. She blinked several times, and tears streamed down her face. "Do you… do you really think that's true about me? Do you think the others think I'm… well, that I'm not just some slag?" she hesitantly asked, her mind turning over the situation as Hermione had described it.

Hermione nodded firmly. "Let me put it this way: when I postulated that you might have kidnapped Astoria and possibly been a mole working for the enemy, the boys defended you immediately, Blaise and Jeremy especially. And I saw more than one set of doubting eyes cast at me around the table then. No one wanted to believe you could have done what I'd assumed. If I'd been smarter, I would have understood that such loyalty doesn't come simply from sharing bodily fluids a few times, but it's something you can only instill in another person whose soul you've touched in some good way." She smiled genuinely at her former housemate. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Fay. Sometimes, I'm too cynical for my own good. And yes, I really believe that you've got a gift for getting men to love you honestly. Frankly, I'm a little envious."

Pansy snorted from the sidelines. "Never thought I'd hear _you_ say something like that, Miss Iron Knickers."

Hermione almost forgot the other woman was there, she'd been silent for so long. She threw her former rival a wicked grin. "Can it, bitch."

Pansy laughed, and it was a good sound.

"So, you're letting me go, then?" Fay asked, her voice an amazed whisper filled with hope. Her limbs were trembling now, as if she were suffering an adrenaline release after shock, and she wrapped her arms about herself, as if holding her heart in.

Hermione nodded a little wistfully. "I'll miss you, but it's more important that you take Astoria and get to safety. And hey, the Weasley family is in California, you know – right where you're headed, in fact. You can always stay with them. And as I said, if you want, I'll send Charlie with you to lead you on your way. He should be with his family now, anyway. It's been too many years."

"Daphne goes as well," Pansy chimed in from the side. "I want her out of here and with her sister. She's given up too much as it is."

Fay lost it then, sobbing loudly and relieved. "Thank God. It'll all be over and I'll be able to be with him. _Thank God._"

Hermione embraced her friend in a warm, comforting hug, helping her ride out the storm of her tears, recognizing that how Fay felt was exactly what she was feeling in that moment for Malfoy: _Thank God, I'll be able to see him again soon, too._

_

* * *

_

_**TO BE CONTINED…**_


	12. Ch 11: Things Aren't Always As They Seem

**Chapter Eleven: **_**Things Aren't Always As They Seem**_

_**The Madam's House - Stratford-On-Avon, England**_

**Monday, September 4, 2000 **

It was well past two in the morning before Hermione returned to the bedroom she'd been assigned originally. After being escorted to her door, she stopped Pansy before she could slither away, tugging the woman's arm and dragging her into the room after. With a wave of the wand she'd been given back, Hermione set up the privacy wards, and then turned to her attendant. "You have to tell Theo about Krum. He needs to let my people know."

Pansy pursed her lips. "I'll try. But I'm not sure when he's coming back. If he put in an appearance so soon after being with my mother, Phaedra would take it as a slight against her prowess and quite possibly come gunning for you. She's killed new girls for less around here. He knows how she operates, so he'll probably be by in a day or three."

Hermione swallowed her frustration back and simply nodded. "Thanks." Pansy shrugged those slim, delicate shoulders of hers and started to turn away. "No, really," she tried again to convey her gratitude sincerely. "_Thank you._ For everything you've done for the resistance. For everything you've had to endure to help bring your mum down. I can't even imagine your suffering, but from one woman to another: thank you."

The dark haired Madam lowered her eyes, keeping her profile to Hermione, and it was obvious that she was both embarrassed and grateful for the recognition of her sacrifices. "Help me destroy Phaedra, and I'll give you anything you want, Granger," the other woman stated firmly.

That reminded… "What was the second thing you wanted from me?" Hermione asked, not wanting this to be dropped on her head later. It was best to get it all out in the open while she was still awake.

Pansy stepped back from the door, double checked the spell wards for privacy, and then came and sat on Hermione's bed across from her. Heavily lined, sultry eyes and dark cherry-stained lips stared at her for a dozen heartbeats before giving up the truth. "I want you to help break my people out of here at the same time as you leave. All of those loyal to me. There's fifteen girls right now, plus three men."

Hermione's eyes widened and her jaw literally dropped open. "Are you barking mad? How the hell am I supposed to get that many people out of here? I'm having a hard enough time trying to visualize breaking Fay, Astoria, Daphne, Teddy and I out."

Pansy shook her head resolutely. "I've got it all worked out, so stop fussing." She stared hard at Hermione then. "You made a deal, Granger. No backing out. Mort's moving on everyone in less than two weeks, forcing us all to take the Dark Mark or else. He's sending people here for this purpose, I'm sure." She brushed her bangs from her face in frustration. "The Death Eaters will probably be using Legilimency to rat out the disloyal, and who knows what those other five Unmentionable Curses are that the Trackers will use. None of my people are good enough Occlumens, except maybe one woman who has a… natural talent for mind magic, you might say… to withstand such an invasion. It'll be a fucking slaughter in here, Granger. I want them out before then. All of them."

"What about you?" Hermione asked, watching Pansy carefully.

Her one-time rival frowned, looked down at her hands leaning on the comforter. "If I leave before mother's brought low, other girls may be dragged in to fill the empty spaces. No one would be here for them."

Hermione considered the risks and firmly shook her head. "No, you go with us. All of you, or none of you. That's _my_ stipulation."

Pansy looked up, incredulous. "If I leave, you'll have no further intelligence from this end. You'll be totally blind."

Hermione folded her arms, set now in her course of action. "I have a feeling, Pansy, that in a few weeks, everything's coming to a head anyway. It'll be chaos. I _won't_ leave you behind."

Parkinson stared hard at her and sneered. The expression was so like Malfoy's that it was scary. "And why do you care? Bloody Gryffindor ideals again?"

Biting back the automatic flip-off that bubbled to her lips, Hermione instead chose an answer that she knew Pansy could appreciate. "I could use you in the final battle. You're a strong practitioner. I saw you wave around the non-verbals earlier." She narrowed her eyes, throwing out the one thing she knew would force the other woman's hand. "And I need someone to watch Malfoy's back when I can't."

Pansy's eyes widened, then immediately narrowed and her lips trembled, even as her hands fisted against the quilt. "You rotten slag. That was low."

Hermione grinned wolfishly and tweaked an eyebrow up. "I'm surrounded by Slytherins, remember? I'm learning."

Pansy stood abruptly and headed for the door. She grabbed the knob, but stopped, turning back. "You're a fucking idiot, Granger," she emphatically stated. "I'll steal him from you, you know."

With a casual shrug, Hermione stood and began undressing for bed, pulling nightclothes out of her Bag of Holding. "Game on, then." This was a pomposity that she'd often heard Jeremy espouse when a challenge came his way in cards, and she tossed it out now, casting down the gauntlet. Pansy still carried a torch for Malfoy, that much was clear, but Hermione would be damned if she'd let him go with another woman ever again. She had come to an important decision since peeking into Fay's memories – remembering the Sex-Witch noticing that Draco was watching her across the camp. When she got back, she intended on letting Malfoy know exactly how she felt about him… and that she wouldn't put up with his shite if he tried to push her away. Unless he absolutely wasn't attracted to her in that way – which she suspected wasn't the case, since he'd tried to kiss her in the tent that day that Pucey had walked in - come hell or high water (to borrow from the Yanks), she was going to seduce him into loving her.

With that idea firmly in mind, she turned and got under the covers. "Night, _Pans_. See you tomorrow." Just before she snuggled down, she flipped back over. "Oh, and I probably won't be awake until noon, so don't bother bringing breakfast until then, right? Thanks."

With a smug grin, she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, almost immediately nodding off. Grumbling under her breath, Pansy opened the door and left, shutting it and locking her in for the rest of the night and morning.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Hermione awoke to Pansy tromping into her room in stiletto heels that were forcibly marched across the wooden floor. "Morning, Princess," Pansy greeted her with a vicious smirk, dropping the tray onto the cheap, pressed wood dresser. The utensils rattled sharply in response. "It's ten o'clock. Here's your freakin' breakfast."

Rubbing a hand across her head, Hermione sat up with a deep sigh. The shared nightmare had come again last night and she had a killer headache once more. She was positive now that it was Harry trying to make a connection with her in her sleep, because in this dream, it had been one of _his_ memories, not her own. Specifically, it had been a vision of the night up in the Astronomy Tower, when Dumbledore had died. She watched how Harry had fallen under the Petrifying Hex that Dumbledore had non-verbally cast on him, and how at that exact moment, the door to the Tower slammed open and a sixteen-year old Draco Malfoy called out "_Expelliarmus,_" tumbling Dumbledore's wand out of his weathered hand and over the ramparts. Next there was the confrontation, where Draco explained everything - his duplicity and attempts on Dumbledore's life, repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, and his disdain for Snape's attempts to help. Then there came the final resolution, when, despite all his braggadocio, Draco couldn't kill his teacher, even knowing the consequences. The Death Eaters had come then: the Carrow siblings, Yaxley, Rowle, and the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. And finally, Snape arrived, and Dumbledore was defeated as a glowing ichor-colored ball of flame engulfed him, sending him flying over the battlements to fall away for good. She looked back just in time to see Draco's shocked face, sadness etched into his features, just before he was hustled back through the door by Snape.

She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. The after effects of these Legilimens visits were really starting to be problematic, as they left her disoriented and in pain upon waking. She circled her fingertips over her temples in an effort to ease the throbbing quicker. "I said noon, you mean bint," she mouthed back at Pansy with a growl, perturbed by the oh-so-obvious ploy to annoy her. In truth, she'd expected the other woman to pull something like this on her. Some rivalries never died, no matter the occasional truce.

"Yeah, well, Theo's sent word that he's coming tonight, so I figured I'd get you up now. You're going to need that long to get that rat's nest on the top of your head tamed," Pansy mocked. She scrutinized her then seriously. "I've got a potion, you know, that will help grow your hair out for you quickly, if you want. Either that or we should just chop it short. Cause right now, its _très _ugly."

Hermione ran her fingers through her shoulder length mop, trying to get the tangles out with her fingers, her headache starting to ease up thankfully. "It doesn't look that bad," she wondered aloud. "Does it?"

Pansy sauntered sexily over to sit on the bed, her hips swaying with natural grace. As she reached out to touch Hermione's hair for evaluation, her red cat suit stretched open at the neckline, showing off more cleavage than the entire Bulgarian National Quidditch Team's Cheerleading Squad (before Quidditch was disbanded, that was), and for an instant, Hermione was terribly jealous. She, herself, was only barely a 'B' cup. Clearly, Parkinson was pushing 'Double D' territory. She suddenly remembered that Pansy had admitted yesterday that Malfoy had been her first lover when they were younger, and she found herself strangely speculating whether he cared about breast size or not… Well, he must, mustn't he? He was a man, after all, and every heterosexual male on the planet cared about boobs. Did he think Hermione lacking in that department? Heck, did he look at her that way _at all_?

"I think you're salvageable," Pansy told her, drawing her concentration back to the topic on hand. "The curl is nice, the hair is thick. Your problem is the frizz. You can fix that by shampooing and conditioning every other day, not every day, and use a wide-tooth comb after washing it. If you run some grape seed oil through it while still wet, and put it up into a tight bun right away it'll act like rollers, shaping the hair into big curls. Let it dry naturally that way - at least for half a day – and when you let it down, use your fingers to comb through it, not a brush."

Hermione blinked in amazement. That sounded so easy. "Will that really work? How did you…? I mean, your hair is straight and, well, perfect."

Pansy's smirk traveled up the side of her cheek in an oh-so-familiar way. Apparently, she and Draco had also gone to the same school for smarmy personality disorders. "I'm a Madam lording over dozens of women, Granger. We have our share of hair issues here, especially when we're expected to entertain important clientele who have preferences for non-magicked, natural beauty." She touched Hermione's ends again, rubbing them between her purple lacquered nails. "And as for the length… well, do you want it long or short?"

Hermione considered it. She'd cut her hair earlier this year for a very compelling set of reasons (namely, that it was easier to care for when short, and also because of the whole McLaggen incident), but she'd been growing it out after Malfoy's comment about its length back in Ireland, acutely conscientious that he hadn't been too pleased with the change. Now, she wasn't so sure which was best. "What… do you think?" she finally asked, blushing, feeling out of her element entirely. Primping wasn't her thing. She had done it on occasion back during her school days, but ever since, as a general rule, Hermione gave only the minimum amount of required attention to her looks, more concerned with other, more pressing details – like survival. But if Pansy was coming to camp with them, looking as hot as she did… Malfoy would surely notice his old lover. A part of her – the female that had been buried inside for too long and had recently begun to appear again (specifically, after finding out about Malfoy's sexual interest in Astoria) – didn't like that idea one bit. She made a decision then. "Long. Like it used to be."

Pansy nodded. "I'll be right back then." She stood and headed for the door. "Eat your breakfast or I'll feed it to the dogs outside."

Hermione grinned like a shark, more at home with trading barbs than hair care tips with her female rival. "And let you poison the poor things?"

With an unladylike snort, Pansy left, and after double checking her food for contaminants and spells (it never hurt to be paranoid when dealing with Slytherins), Hermione wolfed down her food.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

By the time Pansy had left her after their 'beauty session,' Hermione's migraine had gone the way of the Dodo bird, and her hair had grown considerably, and was now well past her shoulders. The tonic they'd used on her was potent stuff, and contained a warning that only one drop should be applied for every thumb's length of desired growth. Three drops had been all they'd applied, and Hermione was now satisfied with the results, having compromised between the length she'd worn around most of her life and her short locks. After that, Pansy had conjured an honest-to-goodness bathtub, and with an _Aquamenti _and a heating charm, Hermione had her first real bath (not just a magical clean-up) in months. It felt so good to relax back into the vanilla oil scented water for over an hour, and then to wash her hair thoroughly.

When she'd gotten out, she'd fixed her hair with the supplies Pansy had left for her, rolling it into a bun and tied it back with a hair band to let it dry naturally, as Parkinson had so expertly instructed. Then, she banished the used water from the basin, shrunk the claw-footed tub down to itty-bitty proportions and slipped it into her Bag of Holding. This was something she planned to share with her teammates once she got back to camp (oh, how she _loved_ magic!).

She nibbled at lunch when Pansy brought in a new tray, taking the old one out with her, and sat back on her bed to start reading the book Snape had lent her as one of the portkeys for her escape: _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Dumbledore had left her a copy of this book in his will, so she already knew the contents. Still, it gave her something to do while waiting for Theo to appear. She hunkered down on the bed and read through the short, thin book, finishing it in less than twenty minutes. She went back to the final story – "The Tale of the Three Brothers" – and read some interesting annotations in the margins. Snape's scrawl was easily identified as matching the one that had frequently left scathing comments on her graded papers back in school, and she read with some interest his thoughts on the Wand of Destiny. Most peculiar was the following underlined passage:

"_Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed."_

In the margins were written these words:

_H.P. wand's master? Elder Wand = no master now?_

Hermione contemplated this small query seriously, and weirdly, a picture started to form in her mind. It was a long-shot, but it kind of made sense the more she fleshed it out.

Voldemort had possessed the Elder Wand (a.k.a. the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the Elhorn Wand, or the Eldruhn Wand - pick your poison as to a preferred name) prior to the Final Battle at Hogwarts; therefore it must still be in Lord Mort's possession now. But the Dark Lord had never been able to control the wand when it had been his, and had known, in the end, the reason why when Harry had openly revealed _his_ mastery of the wand's allegiance to everyone listening in on their verbal sparring match. Perhaps that knowledge is what caused Tom Riddle to so desperately decide to combine himself with his last two Horcruxes. What if knowing he wouldn't be able to beat Harry in a wand duel if the Elder Wand wasn't his (and this would most certainly lead to his death, whether at Harry's hand, or by a Wizengamot Executioner's), is what tipped his sanity, and made him consider using the powerful ancient magic to bind himself to Harry, and by proxy to Nagini (who had snuck up on Harry during the ensuing conversation and wrapped herself around him, constricting to prevent his movement), causing the three of them to merge into a single entity? It seemed a likely supposition, given the facts.

But if the Wand of Destiny was _Harry's _to command, and not _the Dark Lord's_, then it followed that the Elder Wand now had no true master - as Snape had so wonderingly illuminated in his margin notation. That would be because Harry wasn't Harry anymore, technically, but an amalgamation of three individuals, two of whom had not beaten Harry in battle (or by more murderous means) to claim mastery over the Deathstick. That quite possibly meant that Lord Mort couldn't control the Elder Wand either, despite Voldemort's desperate gamble to dominate Harry.

But there was a niggling flaw in all of this supposition somewhere, she just knew it. That intuitive sense of _wrongness_ that she'd come to trust over the years tickled the back of her brain again, setting her teeth on edge. If there was one thing Hermione Granger didn't care for, it was feeling like she was missing something that stared her right in the face. Talk about frustrating! Thank the Founders, however, that one of her strengths was puzzling through a problem, whittling away at the flaws until she figured out the answers that were missing and how to fix the situation. If anyone could pick something to pieces, it was her.

She threw herself back onto her pillow and stared up at the white, flocked ceiling above, twirling her wand in her hand over her abdomen as she thought.

Wand… something about the wand…

Starting at the beginning, she pieced together the known details of the Elder Wand's history.

First, she knew that Dumbledore had beaten Gellert Grindelwald in a duel back in the 1940's and took mastery of the Elder Wand then. McGonagall had confirmed that fact for Hermione in the weeks after the Battle, when she had first joined her and Malfoy's team before heading off to America with the Weasleys (Harry had brought this little nugget of information to light during the Final Battle, when he'd been taunting Voldemort with his knowledge).

Second, in the Astronomy Tower the night Albus was killed, Draco had been the one to disarm the Headmaster using _Expelliarmus_. At that moment, Malfoy became the Elder Wand's master.

Third…

Wait, that last somehow seemed relevant. She read back through the story of the three brothers:

"_That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat."_

"_Meanwhile the second brother… took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand… Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself..."_

"_It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son."_

What was the common thread?

Touch. In all three cases, the specific item of powerful magic – the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak - had been in the hand of its rightful owner at the time it was either taken, lost or passed on.

In the hand of its rightful owner…

Malfoy became the Elder Wand's master because he'd bested its previous owner _while the wand had still been in Dumbledore's hand._ Snape had then come and killed Albus after, but by then, the wand's allegiance had passed to Draco. And although Malfoy had never touched the Elder Wand himself, the thing still recognized him, because he'd been the one to best its master while physically in possession of the thing.

When Harry had defeated Draco in the wand duel at Malfoy Manor a little less than a year later, Draco hadn't been holding the Elder Wand, but his own Hawthorne wand that he'd gotten at Ollivander's Wand Shop when he'd been eleven years old. Which meant Harry hadn't bested Malfoy while he'd been holding the Wand of Destiny. Logically, that meant that the Elder Wand had never conceded its own defeat to Harry.

So Harry hadn't been the last master of the Elder Wand.

Draco was.

_Still_ was.

"Holy shit," Hermione whispered, her mouth gone as dry as the desert.

No wonder Voldemort had never been able to wield it. No wonder the Dark Lord had been able to turn the Elder Wand on Harry in the end and perform a spell that had caused him physical harm – something the Wand of Destiny could never have done had Harry been its rightful owner.

Not true for Malfoy, though. The wand would be unable to be used against him.

Which meant, they had their weapon to defeating the Dark Lord once and for all… _if_ they could manage to get it out of Lord Mort's hands, that was.

But there was a serious problem to contend with even before they got to that point: the Trackers and their Unmentionable Curses. Why on everything that was foul and loathsome would Lord Mort trust any of his backstabbing Death Eaters with such powerful and nasty spells to begin with?

She stepped back, tried to put herself into the Dark Lord's shoes (with a shudder at the mere thought).

If she were Lord Mort and she couldn't command the Wand of Destiny (the ultimate symbol of wizarding strength and power), _and_ if she was struggling within herself for control of her own mind at the same time (thank you Harry!), _and_ if she were facing the possibility of a violent coup d'état, then she'd have to find other magical means to keep her power-greedy Death Eaters in line… And _that_, perhaps would lead her to rooting around through Dumbledore's library to begin with, hoping to find some obligingly helpful tome or shiny nugget of wisdom to latch onto in desperation. Where else but in that private, respectably-sized magical text collection, amassed over centuries by the dozens of Headmasters and Headmistresses that had faithfully served Hogwarts, could one discover a secreted book on ancient spells?

Yes, it seemed to fit.

Armed with such rare, horrifyingly effective craft, the first tactically sound thing to do would be to establish an elite core of loyalists – her Trackers. She'd train this small, hand-select group to wield these spells, and after, she'd sic them on her own people anytime they stepped a toe out of line. Doing so would serve to unite the fanatical amongst her ranks, and at the same time, reassert her position at the top of the food chain. It would also help to 'motivate' the less enthusiastic of her followers. Elder Wand or no, with the Unmentionables and the Trackers, she could rule effectively through terror.

The more she considered it, the more likely the facts seemed to fit that this was exactly what Lord Mort had been doing for the last six months.

She wondered back on the dream she'd had last night. Had this been what Harry was trying to show her? For some reason, that fit, too. And it made her worry. If Harry was jumping to such extreme remembrances now – moving out of the softer memories of his times with her and Ron together - he must know that he was losing the battle for himself, and wanted to pass on his secrets now before it was too late.

_Please hold on just a little longer, Harry_, she begged into the recesses of her mind, hoping that somehow he'd hear her voice across all the miles. _I'll save you. I promise._

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Theo did not come to her that night, despite his promise to. Hermione began to worry by nine o'clock when he hadn't shown. Pansy snuck into her room after ten to tell her that Phaedra had stopped Theo on the way in, and the last she'd heard, when she'd pressed her ear to the door, had been her mother moaning. Pansy assumed that meant her mum had used her powers to seduce Theo again, and that he wouldn't be coming tonight, nor probably for the next few days.

Her former classmate left as soon as she'd delivered her message, explaining that she'd been ordered by her mother prior to Theo's arrival to 'see' to a client personally. Before she left the room, however, Hermione had reached into her Bag of Holding and passed along a knife that Blaise had given her after the whole thing with McLaggen had gone down. "Just in case," she offered, nervous for Pansy's safety.

The former Queen of Slytherin took one look at the knife – a Muggle military piece with a saw blade the length of her hand and the width of three fingers – and she accepted it (and its sheath, which Hermione slid it back into before handing it over) with a gracious nod, tucking it into the small of her back for easy reach, between the layers of her clothes. "Thanks. Let's hope I don't need it."

Hermione nodded and said her goodnights, hoping this wouldn't be the last time she saw Pansy Parkinson.

After, she lay back on her bed, frustrated with the need to contact her people immediately, to warn them of Viktor's betrayal at least. She chewed on the end of her long hair, thinking. There had been a floo in Pansy's back, private room. She wondered if it worked, and if so, where some floo powder might be kept. Perhaps she could get out through it to an old address she knew – Grimmauld Place or The Burrow – and from there apparate to Kirkwall? But, if Pansy was 'entertaining' tonight, would she be in her personal front room, or in one of the dorms? Hermione had the impression that Parkinson's chamber had been her private domain, and that it wasn't used for 'work.' Otherwise, why hide Fay and Astoria there, just meters from possible Death Eater detection?

Perhaps she'd just go for a walk and find out…

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

With her transfigured features back in place, and a Disillusionment Charm firmly cast, Hermione had slowly, carefully made her way out of the East Wing, heading for the North Tower.

After an hour - having had to stop several times to avoid detection when doors opened, or clients rounded corners and headed in her direction - she reached the second floor connection. Taking a deep, quiet breath, she was about to push through the thick, sweaty aura of sex that she'd sensed earlier surrounding this area, when she was forced to stop short. A stocky man of average height was exiting one particular room off to her left, and she stopped pressed her invisible self up against one wall, hoping she could dodge him if he decided to swerve her way. As it was, she was worried that his wide shoulders would touch her in the narrow passage. She didn't recognize the man, but his cloak and the mask he was readjusting over his face said he was a Death Eater.

"Fuck all, girl, stop crying," he barked over his shoulder, rubbing at his neck as if annoyed. "I paid through the bleedin' nose for the right to poke you first. You should feel privileged." With that, he angrily strode off, and Hermione held her breath and sucked in her gut and chest as far as she could as he passed by. At that moment, she was thankful she was only a 'B' cup, because no way would he not have touched her if she'd been Pansy's 'Double D' size! Fortunately, he was too upset to notice that the patch of wall she stood against was blurry (where the charm bent the light around her), and he made his way to the stairs at the end and went down without a second thought, his boots stomping loudly away.

Hermione turned back to the open door the man had just left, and now she heard it: a woman crying. She stealthily moved towards the sound, careful to stay out of the light so as to not cast a shadow, and peeked in. What she saw made her wand hand shake and her mind reel. Although she personally had never used an Unforgivable Curse before, at that moment, she considered hunting that Death Eater scumbag down and throwing a Cruciatus at him, at the very least. She hurried into the room and shut the door behind her, knowing that what she was doing was possibly going to jeopardize her mission, but as a woman, she was unable to turn away from a fellow female who had just been brutalized.

The crying, young woman was lying curled up on a rumpled bed, blood pouring from between her pale legs and down her buttocks. She looked badly used - bruise and teeth marks were all over her skin, and her hair was a tangled mess. Removing the Disillusionment Charm, Hermione put a hand over the girl's mouth and shushed her urgently. She then cast a Silencing Charm over the room. The other woman's eyes widened slightly with fear, and then bounced around, looking for potential dangers lurking in the corners. Hermione did her best to calm her with soothing words.

"Shhh… It's all right. I'm here to help. I won't hurt you. Do you believe me?"

Rich, dark brown, almond-shaped eyes looked at her in part fear, part curiosity, but the fair-skinned Asian girl simply nodded. There was something familiar about her… Hermione removed her hand with a slow, deliberate movement, looked about and found some tissues on the dresser. Taking a large wad in her hands, she used her wand to _Aguamenti_ some mist over them, making sure they were damp, but not drenched. She then personally washed the sweat and blood from the girl's face, arms and fingers with _very_ gentle swipes. She didn't touch her anywhere else, though, knowing the vulnerability of such a position firsthand and not wanting to cause her any more pain or grief. She could have used magic to _Scourgify_ the mess, but Hermione knew from personal experience that a soothing touch would be needed right then.

As she worked, the young woman watched her warily, and after a few minutes, she finally spoke. "You know," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice raspy and raw, probably from crying and screaming. "How this feels. You know."

Hermione tried to shut out the memories of her rape and simply nodded, pursing her lips unconsciously. "Yes."

After that, the girl's tense body relaxed, and she watched Hermione impassively. Using her wand now that the trust had been tentatively earned, Hermione did _Scourgify_ the rest of the blood off, and healed the bruises and bites with a wave. "I'm Jean," she presented herself, using her prearranged cover (her middle name – how original). "I'm from Coventry."

"Su Li," the girl familiarized herself in return.

Hermione almost gave herself away, and bit down on the gasp before it escaped her lips. "It's nice to meet you Su," she offered weakly, feeling sick to her stomach. The girl she had gone to school with – who had been sorted into Ravenclaw and been in her year – looked nothing like this beauty before her. Rather than the unremarkable, thick wasted teenager who had worn ugly, square glasses and who's hair had been unfashionably cut in a "standard short-straight" (chin-length, straight cut all the way around, one inch straight bangs on the forehead – a fashion that made even Hermione's bushy hair look good in comparison), in her place was a young woman with well-proportioned curves, full lips, sultry eyes, and long, flowing blue-black glossy hair. Hermione took Su's hand in a faux handshake of meeting, and absently noted that it was ice cold. She worried that the woman could be in a mild form of shock.

"You're late for your appointment… Jean," Pansy informed her from the door, having approached so silently and covertly that Hermione hadn't sensed her; she had no idea how long the woman had been standing behind her even. Parkinson's wrinkled brow indicated that she was clearly annoyed with finding Hermione out and about without permission again - especially in the room of a perfect stranger. "Time to go."

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione stood and gave Su a last nod of encouragement, and then she followed Pansy out into the hallway.

x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x

"Thank you," Parkinson gratefully acknowledged, sitting on the edge of her desk. They'd walked back to her personal office in the West Wing, since it was closer than Hermione's rented room in the East Wing and far enough away from Phaedra at the moment (whose room was on the first floor of the North Tower, on the opposite end from Pansy) to be safe. "For being kind to Su, I mean."

Hermione felt her anger spilling over into rage and she clenched her fists to stop herself from hitting something. She was pacing back and forth in front of a large, darkly stained, wooden shelf that was filled with old, well-read hardback books, her movements jerky like a caged lioness. "For Godric's sake, how could you let that happen, Pansy? How can you be so calm? She was obviously a virgin. That… that fucking animal _raped_ her."

Pansy stared at her coolly, and then smacked her lips loudly to intentionally rile up Hermione. "And he paid for the right to do so."

Before she even was conscious of moving, Hermione had rushed in to hit the other woman across the face for such a callous attitude, but just barely stopped herself short when Pansy didn't even flinch, obviously unafraid of physical punishment. The idea alone made Hermione falter. She narrowed her eyes and examined Pansy's face carefully. She was well made-up, with enough pancake to rival Elizabeth I, but upon closer inspection, there was a dark shadow of a bruise on her left cheek. "Who hit you?"

Rolling her eyes, Pansy stood elegantly to her full height. "_Think_ Granger: do you really believe I'd let someone as sadistic and sick as Avery Junior touch an innocent for kicks?" she asked, ignoring the last question put to her. She stood and faced off with her former Gryffindor rival, their noses centimeters from each other, her dark eyes burning fiercely. "Not everyone here is what they appear to be, Princess. I thought you'd be smart enough to figure that out by now."

Hermione blinked, not at all comprehending what Pansy was on about. "Stop being cryptic."

Pansy laughed harshly and put her hands to her hips challengingly. "All right, but first answer me this: how old do you think Su is exactly?"

"She went to school with us, so our age – twenty or twenty-one," Hermione automatically answered.

A triumphant smirk shook the corners of Pansy's rouged lips and she shook her head. "Not even close. You're off by almost fifty years, darling. I told you, looks can be deceiving around here."

Hermione scrunched her face up in incredulous disbelief and anger. "Quit messing with me, Pansy," she snarled, losing her temper again. "There's no way that Su is…"

"She's a Vampire," Pansy cut her off. "Actually, I'm not sure that's the term they use where she comes from in Korea, but it's the closest I can relate to someone who lives off of blood. She's definitely not our age, though, and from what she tells me, she's only half monster. Her father was a British wizard from Oxford studying her people on Jeju Island when he hooked up with her Vampire mother back in the late 1920's. In the late 40's, there was some sort of massacre there, and her mother had been killed. Her father brought her back with him to England afterwards, and she's been hiding out as a school girl all these years, with the help of the Ministry."

Hermione blinked. "How is that possible? I thought all of the Eastern Vampires were wiped out in the early 1600's when the Tokugawa Shogunate, the Ming Emperor and the Joseon King all agreed to root them out."

Pansy's delicately rounded shoulders shrugged indifferently. "I won't pretend to understand Asian history enough to give you a dissertation on the survival of her species during those purging efforts. I _do_ have a text on the subject somewhere around here, though." She glided towards her bookshelf, looking through the titles. "Your love of reading used to be legendary, Granger. Do you keep up still, or has dodging Death Eaters gotten in the way of scholarly pursuits?"

For a moment, bitterness gnawed at Hermione's heart – just as Pansy had so clearly intended with such a cheap shot. She hadn't read a scholarly text for pleasure in years, obviously. If a book hadn't contained guerilla tactics and maneuvers, healing spells, medicinal plant properties, or miscellaneous army survival techniques, she hadn't had time to waste on skimming through the pages (except Beedle's Tales earlier today, that was). This bloody war had taken away all her dreams of leisurely hours spent in the enjoyment of learning.

Just one more reason to kill Mort and every single one of his damned followers quickly.

She shut her mouth, refusing to rise to Pansy's bait. When the other woman realized she'd lost this round, she gave up the 'nasty bitch' vibe. "Whatever Su is, she's got one brilliant trick up her sleeve that the rest of us don't: when her body is damaged, it regenerates perfectly. In other words, she'll go back to being a virginal eighteen-year old look alike in an hour or two. The healing process causes her tremendous pain, though, so I usually pop in after she's finished with a client and put her to sleep with a charm. It keeps her from feeling the effects."

Hermione considered that benefit with some amazement. "Why does she look so different now? Back in school, she…" she huffed in surprise. "Well, she was a mess. Now she's stunning."

"Glamour charms work both ways, you know," Pansy commented. "But how you saw here in her room, that's the real Su Li."

Hermione shook her head, completely astounded by the trickery.

Trickery…

She vaguely recalled that Death Eater who had left Su's room had been rubbing at his neck. "She bit him, that Death Eater, didn't she? Why?" Before Pansy could explain, she recalled her Defense Against The Dark Arts reading materials and snapped her fingers in understanding. "Legilimency. If she's similar to Western Vampires, then she's got mind magic working in her favor. The bite would have strengthened her hold on him and allowed her to wipe his memory of the event. I'm going to assume it also would give her the blood energy she needed to regenerate her body faster."

Pansy nodded. "All that library time _did_ come in handy for you, Granger. All Su had to do was tolerate Avery's… handling of her… and now she has everything he has ever known stored in her head." She clicked her tongue in amusement, clearly enjoying the fact that she put one over on the Death Eater in question. "When I go back tonight to check on her, after I drop you back off in your room, Su will let me extract those memories from her, and I'll send them on to Theo, who will in turn give the information to Snape. That – and other such wicked means - is how your rebellion has been getting a lot of its intelligence for the past few years." Parkinson pulled a brown-leather tome from the shelf with two hands and brought it over to her desk. "Su's played at this game dozens of times, Granger. She knows what she's doing. She's has no love for the Death Eaters and she's helping the cause. All it costs her is a little pain now. But since that's one of her kinks, it's a win-win." The former Queen of Slytherin House oozed down into the high backed, black-leather chair behind her desk, and smugly looked up at Hermione, whose mind was still reeling. She pointed to the large volume she'd brought out from the bookshelf. "Take the book with you when you leave. It'll give you a better idea of Asian Vampires. My gift to you for all you've sacrificed."

Hermione's hand tentatively reached out and stroked the beautifully bound book with reverence. "This is such expensive a gift to give away. Are you sure you want me to have it?"

Pansy nodded. "Consider it a peace offering as well. I shouldn't have baited you like that. I apologize for being rude."

Hermione's gaze snapped up to lock onto her one-time rival. Had a Pureblood witch really just expressed regret for disrespecting a Mudblood? "My, oh, my… how the times have changed," she murmured with a nod in acceptance. "Thank you. It's a beautiful gift, Pansy."

The two shared a moment of complete understanding. They had both been strong-willed women in school, but on opposite sides of the aisle, separated by ideals. Now, the war had made them equals in a shared struggle to rid themselves of Lord Mort and his followers so they could get back to their interrupted lives. It wasn't a perfect alliance, but it was a practical one. Hermione understood such sensible, sound reasoning.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	13. Ch 12: Murder Between Us

_**Chapter Twelve: Murder Between Us**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Island**_

**Sunday, September 3, 2000 - Monday, September 4, 2000 **

Anthony Rickett stuck close to Jeremy Stretton's side during the raid on the Morrison's in Canterbury that Sunday night. He did exactly as instructed by the more senior, seasoned soldier as well – shrinking items and quickly throwing them into his Bag of Holding, being extra quiet not only casting his spells, but in moving himself and things around, to keep the noise level to an absolute minimum. Within three hours, he, Charlie Weasley and Stretton had stripped the shelves of the most useful and wanted groceries, toiletries and pharmaceuticals (Jeremy knew exactly what to get from the Muggle medicine aisles). By tomorrow, heads would roll as these important supplies were discovered stolen. Rickett grinned, wishing he could see the chaos in person.

The trio ported out to a location in Kent first, then to a secondary place on the Isle of Man, before finally jumping back to Kirkwall. When they came into the perimeter wards sometime around three a.m., they were met by Zabini, Malfoy and Snape. All-in-all, it had been a successful campaign, and Tony was feeling particularly proud of himself, especially when he was congratulated on a job well done by his Captains.

That morning, he made his way back to his tent with a grin plastered on his face, finally feeling like part of the team for the first time.

Within five hours, Anthony Rickett was found dead in his cot, under his woolen blankets by his bunkmates, Philip Cadwallader and Charlie Weasley. The former Hufflepuff's body was ice cold, the skin tinged blue, as if all the heat had been leeched from his blood.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

"There's no outward sign of how he died," Snape informed Malfoy after conducting a very preliminary exam of Anthony Rickett's corpse. The two were in the Commander's tent, along with Zabini, Weasley, and Cadwallader – the only people who knew that one of their own was dead.

"Is it possible the three of you tripped a silent trap last night," Draco asked, turning on Charlie.

The red-head narrowed his eyes and considered it, then shook his head. "Doubtful. I ran the spell scanning for magic in the area and didn't pick up anything. We were really careful."

The usually reserved and somewhat shy Philip spoke up then. "It's possible it was poison. There are at least six I can think of off the top of my head that would cause the physical outward symptoms I saw this morning. And some of them could be in gaseous form, not just liquid."

"Definitely possible," Snape concured. "But it would have been intentional. And the only kinds of poisons that would cause a person to freeze up would also cause intense screaming and thrashing about before death. Only a Silencing Charm coupled with a Petrify Jinx could have prevented such a thing."

Philip shook his head. "I heard and felt nothing."

Charlie nodded with Cadwallader's assessment.

Draco crossed his arms. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Weasley, you just taught the group some new spells that you'd invented a few days ago. We could possibly be dealing with something similar. How well did you know the Romanian team before coming here, Severus? Did you share spell casting knowledge with each other?"

Snape considered the issue through narrow eyes. "I admit I was taken aback by Mr. Weasley's pronouncement to teach the group new spells I'd never heard of before, so it's quite possible that one amongst us has been trying out new magic without my knowledge."

Blaise had begun pacing to and fro in the small space, his dark form rippling like a caged panther. He turned on his the old Potions Master. "So, your group was not close?"

With a surly expression, Severus was forced to admit the truth. "Not at all. Certainly not like your own happy, little family here. Many of them came to me only a few months ago."

Turning the full attention of his slate grey eyes on his former Head of House, Draco dared to ask the obvious. "Did you perform Legilimency on them all at least once to know their minds?"

Snape gave him a disgusted sneer. "Of course."

Running a hand through his platinum bangs in frustration and worry, Draco kept his frustration in check just barely. "Run some blood tests, cut him open, I don't care what you do," he commanded. "Find out what killed him and fast." He suspected foul play, but he wasn't about to openly state that in front of anyone. He and Blaise were keeping their thoughts regarding the infiltrator. "We're going to have to tell the others soon, so we can bury him." He swung on Charlie. "In the meantime, get yourself thoroughly checked out by Clearwater. And find Stretton, tell him about this and have him do the same. It's possible you three were exposed to something last night during the raid." He looked from face to face, grim. "We _have_ to know how he died. Severus, work on Rickett's body with Cadwallader. Bring in whoever else you think might be of help."

Charlie nodded to his orders, swiftly turned and left to find Jeremy and Penelope. Snape and Philip moved as one – the two had been working together lately on Cadwallader's training and had established a good rapport – and left to Rickett's tent to examine his cadaver. Blaise hung back, as Draco suspected he might.

"I'll tell the others at lunch," his friend sadly offered. "This is going to _really_ suck."

Draco assured the privacy wards were still in place with a small wave of his fingers at his side. "Any ideas from last night's game?"

Blaise shook his head. "The four of them were rock solid. I didn't get a single vibe. I'm thinking, though, that today's news might be what we need to narrow down the suspects. I'll watch them."

Draco nodded, putting a hand over his eyes. He hadn't slept much the night before, dreaming again of the past, this time a repeat of the night up in the Astronomy Tower when Dumbledore had died. He'd woken in a cold sweat. The nightmares were getting worse. He couldn't risk taking a potion to help him sleep, though. Especially not now when a potential murderer was on the loose in camp. "Did you get that potion from Snape yet for your cough?" he asked.

Zabini shrugged. "I'll do it today when he's done with Rickett."

Draco put a hand on Blaise's shoulder. They were almost of equal height, so it was easy to lock eyes with his oldest, most trusted confidant. "See you do, Blaise. I'm serious."

With a sigh, his fellow Slytherin nodded. "I will. Promise." He walked out into the subdued, overcast morning, wrapping his cloak tighter around him. Draco watched him go through the slit in the tent.

Viktor Krum suddenly walked by, heading towards the main tent. Tracking the Bulgarian's movements – which had smoothed out over the years, once he had stopped spending all his time on a broom – he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. What did Krum _really_ want? Why was he here?

There were always, it seemed, more questions than there were answers nowadays. But maybe today or tonight, some of those mysteries would be illuminated.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Blaise spent the rest of the morning trolling the camp, looking for his four suspects. Two were out on the perimeter currently on watch, and the other two were in the main tent, sitting at the table and sipping strong coffee, talking with at least four others (two of whom were playing a game of wizard's chess). He roamed, careful not to let the others know what he was about, making it appear casual, casting a Disillusionment Charm when visiting the perimeter. At the same time, he rehearsed in his head what he was going to say at lunch. Always multi-tasking - that was Blaise's typical day.

When everyone had gathered at the large dining table in the big pavilion at noon (notably absent were Stretton, Charlie, and Anica, who were currently on watch), Blaise waited until everyone had settled and almost finished eating before breaking the bad news. "Listen up," he easily captured everyone's attention, his deep baritone rumbling through the space. "We have a problem, people."

Every eye turned to him. He very carefully watched four sets in particular.

"This morning, after returning from the supply raid, Anthony Rickett was found dead in his tent."

The room went utterly still and silent. Horror, shock, surprise filled the faces of almost everyone, even the four in question.

"We're working on the cause right now, but we don't suspect it to be sickness." Blaise's eye roamed everywhere, quickly noting each tick, each subtle change in face of every member. He watched Malfoy's do likewise. "There will be a burial for him as soon as we finish the investigation. I'll let you know if that's to be tonight or sometime tomorrow. You don't have to attend if you don't want, although I'd see it as a personal favor if you did. Tony went to school with most of us."

He turned to floor over to Draco with a nod. The former Prince of Slytherin stood, looking menacing in the play of shadows across his form. "Watches continue as before. Clearwater sets the schedule. I want everyone on their toes. And if you feel ill for any reason, immediately see Snape or Clearwater. Even if it's just for an annoying cough." He sat back down.

That last quip, Blaise knew was directed at him. Internally, he rolled his eyes as externally, he continued to monitor the group before him.

Draco's unemotional pronouncement had been all business, but right now, the group was in dire need of some comforting normalcy. Almost all of them were shell-shocked by Rickett's death. All were worried they might be next. Unfortunately, his friend wasn't the touchy-feely type. Malfoy was competent and powerful, but he definitely lacked the important, softer social skills. For that reason, Granger had been his excellent match. Without her, it was obvious that this insurrection of theirs would have been short-lived, as most people would have simply abandoned Malfoy to his single-minded quest to bring down Mort. With her temporarily out of the picture, though, and with Clearwater's gruff demeanor equal to Malfoy's at time, Blaise knew it was up to him to serve as a surrogate in the role of 'Mama Hen' (as Draco had so humorously pointed out). "Pucey," Blaise turned to their chef, who looked a bit green around the gills. "Whip us up a nice dinner tonight in Tony's honor, yeah?"

Adrian's dazed eyes cleared with renewed purpose, and the dark-haired man nodded, setting his jaw. The tension around the table seemed to slightly minimize. Everyone wanted to honor their dead in some way, and breaking special bread together was one of the better ideas. Well, that and drinking to excess.

"Anyone who wants to toast our boy with me later tonight," Blaise offered, "so long as you're not on patrol or have a scheduled watch later in the morning, feel free to stick around after the meal. I've got some nice Scotch I plan to crack open."

There were nods and murmurs of 'good idea,' and 'could use that,' going around. The group finished their meal together, huddling a little closer than before, Blaise noted – even the four in question.

Whoever their spy and potential murderer was, he was good.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

It was four o'clock by the time Snape could explain the cause of the mystery death in camp.

"Quite simply, Mr. Rickett drowned."

Charlie looked about at the faces of his companions, wondering if they were as confused as he. Stretton, Malfoy, Zabini, and Clearwater all had that same 'What the fuck?' look, but Cadawallder, who had apparently been working on diagnosing the cause of Rickett's death alongside his mentor, simply sighed.

"How the hell could that have happened?" Malfoy growled, his grey eyes like two jagged glaciers. The thin skin under the slashing scar across his forehead seemed to fuse with blood, making it redder whenever he was angry or upset, Charlie had observed. "Rickett was in his bunk from the time he got back until he was found dead."

Severus shrugged in that easy way he had when relating gruesome details as if they weren't that big a deal. "A spell. Two actually, used in conjunction. The first caused all of the blood in his body to transform into water. The second froze him in seconds to prevent him from screaming or moving about. It was a very quick death, although I suspect, not without a moment or two of excruciating pain first."

Zabini was clearly floored. His light brown cheeks had taken on an ashen hue. "What the fuck kind of spell could do that to a man?"

A frown painted Snape's pointed, aging features. He casually brushed his hair – which was beginning to grey around the temples – off his forehead. "The residual magical energy isn't one I've ever felt before," he admitted. "It's either a brand new spell someone invented or…"

"A very old one come back into use," Malfoy finished, his eyes narrowing in thought. He threw an indecipherable look at Blaise, but quickly turned back to the former Slytherin Master of House. "Was that all? Were any poisons present?"

Cadwallader shook his head. "None. I checked him for everything twice, with Severus' oversight."

"Do I need to worry about a fucking plague?" Draco's worried voice rumbled through the small tent.

The Clearwater woman shifted. "No, there was nothing like that present. I ran a full sweep with my wand, and checked every inch of the body. No lesions, no cuts, no boils, no excess mucus, no organ damage - no indication of illness whatsoever."

Malfoy seemed to consider the facts for a second more before taking a deep breath and exhaling with relief. "All right then. Unless you need the body for any further reason…?" The Potions Master shook his head. Draco nodded. "Then we'll bury Rickett tonight, after dinner."

"There's a nice set of boulders out on the edge of the perimeter," Stretton spoke up. "It's far enough out of camp, and a good permanent placement marker should we ever want to come back so we can give him a proper resting in the future with a headstone and such."

Their tall, blond leader nodded, his tired, pale face lined with resigned sadness. "Okay then, after dinner. Clearwater, update Granger's notes with the details of Rickett's death. We'll want an accounting of the loss someday, I'm sure."

Penelope somberly nodded her head, and the group broke up. Zabini stayed behind at the side of his Captain, as usual.

As he made his way outside, Charlie's heart filled with dread. Someone had snuck into his tent, right under his and Philip's noses, and murdered their bunkmate - and he hadn't heard a fucking thing. Had he been bespelled to sleep through it? Or, was the murderer just that silent and proficient a killer? Why hadn't he sensed evil among them? Charlie seemed to have a good instinct for that sort of thing; he could sometimes unintentionally read auras, and in the case of Fay, touch them, meld with them. He hadn't sensed anything off about anyone in camp.

But then again, he'd all but tuned his aura-sensing abilities way down for the last three or four months, because they'd been unexpectedly flaring up and it had been uncomfortable. It had only been after meeting Fay that he'd been wildly unable to control them at all. And whatever had happened to him that night he'd lain with the Sex-Witch had altered him. He could feel it deep inside; there had been some fundamental shift in how he attuned his senses, so now he really wasn't sure if he was capable of reading others anymore.

He'd have to try, though. Maybe he could help uncover the killer in their midst - or perhaps even locate someone outside who was coming in at night to cause trouble - another possibility that needed to be explored.

A part of him wished for the days when he'd been alone to interact with his dragons. At least with them, he knew who the monsters were.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The evening meal that night was somber, Neville noted, until Zabini spoke up with a humorous memory of Rickett the night he first attended one of their evening poker games. It was only a few days ago, but it seemed much longer. Anthony had gotten wasted on some Kentucky Bourbon, and he'd practically lost his shirt in addition to all of his Opal Fruits. As he'd stumbled back to the tent he'd shared with Philip and Charlie, leaning heavily on Cadwallader (who was as inebriated as Tony), and the two had busted into drunken, rowdy song - which had woken up a very pissed off Penny (who hated her sleep to be interrupted; she was a grump when she just woke up in general). They'd gotten an earful then, literally, as she'd grabbed both of their lobes and dragged them after her to their tent, depositing them on their cots with a huff of annoyance, and sealing them in with a wave of her wand, refusing to let the inebriated fools out until they sobered up in the morning.

There were snickers around the table at the telling, and Neville couldn't help but cast a smirk at his fiancée, who sat back in her chair and adorably blushed. He smoothed the wrinkly moment over by swooping down for a quick smooch, which made the noise levels in the tent increase with whistles, teasing commentary and chuckles.

Very soon, the table was enjoying their shared memories of Anthony Rickett – many from Jason Swann and Kenny Markham, who had arrived in Snape's camp together with Anthony, the three having made the arduous trek across Europe together to safety after Mort's decisive victory. Jason, in particular, remembered a night the three men had sat around a subdued campfire out in some woodsy area in Hungary, and they talked about their memories of school. It was that particular night, he'd decided, that Hufflepuff wasn't made up of duffers (earning him an indignant 'hey now!' from Philip Cadwallader down the end of the table). He openly regretted now that House loyalties had run so strongly during his time at Hogwarts, as he'd have liked to have known Tony prior to the war.

There were many nods and "hear, hear" shared 'round the table at that sentiment.

Neville raised his glass with the others when Blaise called for a toast in Tony's name. "May the wind be always at your back, mate," he said, sharing a piece of the old Irish blessing that Seamus was famous for quoting during funerals. Glasses clinked and those with alcohol in them slung them back hard, swallowing the contents in a single go. Neville was one such participant, as was Penny.

Later, when dinner wound down, the group moved off to the site where Anthony was to be interred. It was on the very outskirts of the camp, near some large boulders. Everyone came to say their goodbyes (although the patrol on watch duty also kept their eyes trained on the horizon during the short ceremony). Swann and Markham said a few words about Anthony's character, and how everyone would remember, if they could help it, that a Hufflepuff was one of the bravest of their number. Then, Zabini took the lead, serving in Hermione's traditional place, Neville noted, in saying a small prayer for the dead to find his way towards eternal peace. With a wave of his wand, Malfoy covered Rickett's wrapped body with dirt as it lay deep in the earth, and then carved into the nearby boulder using magic a small epitaph containing Tony's name, his house affiliation, and the dates of his birth (according to Jason's recollection) and his death.

Those not on patrol returned to the main pavilion to share drinks, compliments of Zabini's stash. Everyone participated this time, even Snape and Malfoy, who were notorious for skipping festivities in general.

An hour later, Neville took his fiancée's hand and led her back to their tent, wishing a good night to their companions, many of whom seemed well on their way towards a state of a right solid intoxication. For their part, Neville and Penelope were both a bit tipsy, having taken four shots a piece of strong, twenty-year old Scotch (Penny's intolerance for alcohol had returned to normal after she'd joined their group and stopped imbibing), but Neville was buzzing good, and his body was thrumming, desperate to be naked with his lover. Once inside their temporary home, and with the flaps closed, Neville waved his wand over the opening to seal and silence it, and then began divesting Penny of her clothes in a rush, slamming his mouth down on hers with frenzied need. Their passion equally shared at that moment, she hurriedly cast a contraceptive charm over her belly, and then tossed her wand to the floor next to his. They hotly kissed, tearing at each other, the need to marry their flesh compelling their harried actions.

When they tumbled to the cot, she was astride him, sinking her flesh down onto his with a low moan without the requisite anticipatory pause. "Ride me," he commanded her in a hard voice not to be denied, gripping her breasts and pushing up, and she did as he bade. He watched her move above him, so graceful, all long limbs and sweet curves. "You're so beautiful, Penny," he sighed as she glided over his body, her silken warmth thoroughly seducing him. "So _fucking_ beautiful," he groaned. "I love you so damned much."

"Nev, I love you," she whispered back, her whole body straining for an immediate, quick release. She tightened up her lower muscles, started fiercely jerking her hips, pressing her clit against him with each forward shove.

He watched her through it all, feeling blessed. "Take me, Penny," he begged, anxiety gripping his heart once more as old fears rose to torture him. Rickett's death had shaken him, made him realize again just how tenuous his hold on his fiancée really was. He couldn't lose her - _please, Merlin, no._ She was his everything. He'd lost so much already. "That's it, my sweet girl. Feel me."

His hands kneaded, grasped, and held tight enough to leave bruises on her skin as she bucked wildly above him. "Sweet _gods_, I'm almost there," she whimpered, shoving onto him with all her might. "Yes, Nev… _YES!_" She exploded in a wave of rippling, wet heat that dragged him deep inside her body, caressed his cock, and drove him mad with his own need for completion.

Flipping her onto her back as she was still climaxing about him, he sat up on his knees, grabbed her hips and drove himself into her again and again, watching his length move in and out of her with deep, fast, merciless strokes. It didn't take but a dozen more passes before he was on the cusp himself. "Penny, I'm coming!" he groaned, and she tightened up all her internal muscles, squeezing him hard, and brought him over. He kept slamming into her as he came, grunting with each powerful shove, feeling the fire burst through his length, leaving him, filling her up.

When every drop was drained into her, he collapsed into Penny's willing arms. Their sweaty brows pressed together, their breaths mingled as they kissed, and their hearts beat in synchronous rhythm again.

This was meant to be. _They_ were meant to be.

"I want us to marry soon, Penny," he growled in her ear, shoving his pelvis into her again, just now feeling himself start to soften a bit. "I mean it." They'd only been together a short time, but there was no question in his mind who he wanted to spend every day for the rest of his life with, who he wanted as the mother of his children, and who he wanted to die next to.

Once again, his witch didn't say anything when he brought this topic up, and as usual, Neville's whole insides twisted up in sickening fear. Did she want him as he wanted her? She often told him she loved him and that she wanted to be with him, but every time he talked of the consecration of their marriage, she went quiet. She never told him why, even when he asked. He was scared of that reaction, unsure as to what that truly meant.

They held each other for half an hour in silence, and he was lost in his own trepidacious, tortured musings.

Did she not want him because he was physically flawed? His hand was getting better, true, but he would never be as fully proficient with it as he once was. And his coordination was, at times, an issue. He walked just a tad slower than he should, one leg dragging a microsecond behind the other. But he was not an ugly man, this he knew. In fact, he'd grown into a quite handsome bloke, comparing himself to the others in camp. His teeth had been fixed, thanks to Hermione, his hair had been cut short in a nice style to frame his features thanks to Astoria, he was tall, and had lost all his baby fat, moving into the muscular build of maturity. And he knew Penny liked what they did together in bed. They had serious chemistry. They never lacked for conversation. They clicked on every level. So, what was the problem?

As he looked down into her relaxed, sleepy face, Neville again realized how gorgeous his fiancée was. She could have her pick of any guy in the camp, and yet she'd chosen _him_. He grew hard just realizing this. Still locked within her body, he began moving once more, his insecurities making him need to bind her to him through this act again and again. "Love me," he pleaded in her ear. "Penny, just love me enough."

They kissed again, and their escalating moans and gasps drowned out any further discussion, as they made love once more.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The wind blew down from the north, whipping Jeremy's cape around his legs. He hardly felt the cold, though. His whole body was suddenly very warm.

"Did you do it?"

Jeremy didn't turn from his silent observation of the dark ocean. The light from the half moon highlighted the waves and their gently cresting caps, making them eerily bright. The sound of them rhythmically pounding the beach was soothing. He wanted to drown in the cold depths before him, just as Anthony Rickett had drowned in his own fluids, so he wouldn't feel like this anymore. The fiery, consuming pain of rejection ripped his soul to shreds every time he looked at Will, or heard his voice, or connected with his haunted blue gaze…

"Answer me," Willem demanded, remaining behind him and purposefully just a step or two out of reach. "Did you suck him dry?"

With a resigned, sad huff, Jeremy shook his head. "No." He felt so defeated by the simple, cruel way Will spoke to him. It hurt – the unfounded accusation that Jeremy could have possibly bled Rickett to death. But then, he supposed he deserved such paranoia given what he was and what he had done. "Is that all?" he dully asked, feeling his heart pounding away in a sharp, piercing rhythm. "Or was there anything else you wanted to hate me for, too?"

Will was silent for half a minute. "No, I think you've done enough." With that, he turned away.

It suddenly _hurt_ to breathe. Every step Will took away from him was like a physical stab wound to his chest. "Why can't you understand?" Jeremy cried out after his retreating ex-lover, gripping the area over his heart with his right hand, trying to contain the pulsating organ that was now slamming under his ribs, choking him. "Why won't you let me explain? Why can't you forgive me?"

Will stopped, and when he spoke his voice was as frigid as the glacial arctic waters before them. "Because I don't want to."

The answer echoed in Jeremy head. Will still denied him. And he would go on denying them until the end, all because Jeremy had made some stupid mistakes. He'd been terrified to tell the truth to his lover, knowing _this_ might be the probable outcome, but he'd done it anyway, because he loved Will, and he didn't want any more lies between them. Ironically, he'd destroyed them by being too honest - the first fucking time in his life he ever had been that real and true.

He would never be given the chance to make it right, would he? He would never be allowed to earn back Will's love.

Feeling like he was tearing apart at the very seams of sanity, Jeremy screamed in anguish. In a flash, he shifted, his animal exploding outwards, and then he was running, running, faster and faster, black furred paws scrabbling inelegantly over the sand, through the spray, heading further out of camp, into the high grass, seeking refuge. He finally stopped when he could no longer see the lights from behind, and then he dropped down onto his belly, panting, trying to calm his racing heart. He laid his head down between his clawed feet and scented the grass.

In this form, he didn't lose himself to the beast, as Transfigured wizards often did. He was Animagus, and the beautiful monster was a part of him. His mind remained his own, even if his skin was not the same. But for the first time in his life, Jeremy wished he could simply meld into the mind of the black leopard he became, forgetting everything except the thrill of the hunt, the peace of being a solitary creature, without connections to humans or this war. Without this damnably eternal tie to Will.

What had he done?

He'd royally fucked himself, that's what.

Willem hadn't understood what he'd been trying to tell him the other night. He wasn't bound to Jeremy; just the opposite, in fact. At any time, Will could take lovers, and he'd experience joy with all of them, if he wished. True, he'd never find the same intense fulfillment as he did with Jeremy in bed (the marking was intended to make sex between them utterly mind-blowing every single time), but Will's life could be his own. He could be happy with his partners, he could even fall in love with them and have children with them, and together, they could be well-sated and content. He'd live a longer life now, yes, but he wasn't immortal by any means. Eventually, he would die when his body finally gave out (although _when_ exactly Jeremy didn't know, as everything he knew about Vampires came from books on full-blooded versions of his Kindred, and from what little his mother had been able to tell him from her own experiences).

Jeremy, though, he'd never know such things – at least, not until Will passed on and the mark was released (and even then, he was beginning to think that his mother's death so soon after his father had been killed by Death Eaters indicated that a Vampire's life was directly tied to its mate's life, so he really wasn't sure if he'd live past Will's death to experience another mate). His emotions, his physical pleasure and pain receptors, and his mental well-being were all intricately tied to Will now. He could fuck anyone in the world, sure, but it would be satisfactory at best, mostly just a physical release. There would be no true pleasure for Jeremy in coupling if it weren't done with Will. He could not have children, either, as he'd picked a man for his mate, and his body had attuned itself only to Will's pleasures and needs now. Basically, he lived for and through Willem Bradley, when the reverse wasn't at all true. That he loved his former best friend deeply and truly as well, but could not have him, could not give Will what he needed for them both to be truly whole, that was the worst part of it all.

He shut his lids, _so bloody exhausted_, having been on the go since Saturday, not having slept but an hour or two here and there. Being rejected by his soul mate consumed Jeremy's every thought. Consequently, his mind had begun fuzzing over earlier today – a dangerous thing to happen given the fact that there was a killer walking around camp with them. Yet, Jeremy couldn't seem to shake the cottony fluff that blocked his senses, nor could he find true rest, despite desperately seeking it in the quiet of his tent when Adrian was not about. He'd walked about in a partial daze today, unfocused, living in a dream-like state. It was as if he were not truly real and alive, but a dummy marionette that moved and talked without strings, waiting for that spark that only Will could give him to fill him up and make him complete.

He was truly a half-man now, cursing his existence and wishing on stars for Will to give him permission to live.

Perhaps it would be better if he died instead.

One benefit to being in leopard form was that Jeremy couldn't cry in the traditional sense. He could, however, still suffer the emotional wounding of his human heart. So it was, hidden away in the brush, a big cat's mournful howls of pain echoed through the windy night as black, menacing clouds rolled in above, signaling the coming of a storm.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	14. Ch 13: Dreams, Desires and Death

**Chapter Thirteen: **_**Dreams, Desires, and Death**_

_**The Madam's House - Stratford-On-Avon, England**_

**Tuesday, September 5, 2000 – Wednesday, September 6, 2000**

Hermione woke on Tuesday morning with another migraine. She pinched her nose between her index finger and thumb, rubbing, and sighed, keeping her eyes tightly closed. Last night's dream had been different. This time, instead of her own memories being prodded and relived, she'd seen the world from a completely different view: Harry's remembrances.

It was the night of the Yule Ball, and Harry and Parvati had just met up with Ron in the entrance to the Great Hall. Through the throng, the threesome made their way through the mob of students massing in the Entrance Hall over to Ron's date, Padma. Fleur and Roger walked past, and Ron dipped down to hide himself.

A second or two later, Malfoy appeared at the top of the steps leading down into the dungeons. He handsomely wore high-collared, black velvet dress robes that Hermione hadn't given a single thought to at the time, but now thought made him look rather dashing, and at the same time, still very much untouchable. Pansy was literally hanging off of Draco's arm in delight, her frilly, pale pink robes very fashionable – and just revealing enough to make it clear what she was after.

The oak front doors to the castle opened then, and in marched the Durmstrang students; in the front ranks, her fifteen-year old self came striding in on Viktor's arm. It had been the first time she'd actually seen herself from the outside, and she was quite stunned, honestly, by the vision of her smiling face and her confidant poise as she was escorted towards the spot where McGonagall had called the Champions to gather.

What she hadn't noticed that evening, and was only aware of now, was the look on Draco Malfoy's face when she'd waltzed into the room. As if she were standing in a Pensieve, she was able to quite freely move around the vision, and so she left Harry's side the moment Malfoy had appeared and moved across to the Prince of Slytherin. Now, she had a front row view of his slowly widening eyes as he recognized her, and of how he swallowed nervously then licked his lips as she walked past him. The mask of cold indifference was firmly back in place in a heartbeat, but she had seen it as clear as day. There had been definite interest – lust even – in Malfoy's steel grey eyes as he had taken in her visage.

As her 'dream-self' walked off without a second thought to Draco's reaction, her 'visiting-self' was also forced to move. Harry's memories were made up of his subconscious cataloguing of the things he had seen only, and so when his attention shifted to a different view, she was forced to go along for the ride.

She was suddenly aware that Harry was gazing at her and Krum in the receiving line at the Great Hall's entrance, only just then figuring out who she was. His jaw, literally, dropped open as he catalogued her appearance with open shock. As the doors to the converted dining area opened and the students filed passed the Line of Champions, Malfoy walked by with Pansy. From this angle, she could now see him peek out of the corner of his eye at her, beneath his long, golden lashes as he sauntered past casually, pretending for the world that he could care less about any of the proceedings. Pansy was openly gaping at her as she, too, recognized who had come as Viktor Krum's date.

The memories shifted then, as if Harry was purposefully sifting through them, looking for specific things.

He was seated at the large, round table at the top of the Hall with the other Champions and the Tournament Judges. Attempting to placate Percy Weasley, who was sitting at his side in substitute for Barty Crouch, he engaged the man in polite conversation, while alternatively picking at his goulash that he'd ordered from the dinner menu. He also listened in while Dumbledore verbally sparred with Igor Kakaroff. However, as he did these things, his eyes were roaming about the Hall. This allowed the older Hermione to walk freely about the area to the extent of what his subconscious had picked up during those minutes he'd been panning the room. She automatically headed for Draco's side.

He was sitting at one of the large round tables on the far right of the room. It was obviously Head Slytherin territory. To Draco's left was Pansy, to his right, Blaise Zabini and his date, Daphne Greengrass. Crabbe and Goyle, dateless and dressed in horrid, mossy green robes that almost matched, sat on the other side of Pansy. To Crabbe's left was Theodore Nott and his date, Tracey Davis. Adrian Pucey was surrounded on either side by the Carrow twin sisters, having obviously come with both girls (his arms were about both girls' shoulders). Millicent Blustrode sat next to Daphne, completing the circle. Malfoy, she noticed, was seated in a chair that gave him a perfect, unimpeded view of Hermione, and he stared at her often throughout the meal.

She wished she could hear what the group said, or even what Malfoy said to his date. Unfortunately, from Harry's perspective, the room was too noisy, and he was focused on the conversation at his own table instead. Still, for long moments she observed in surprise Draco watching her younger self, curiosity and fascination in his gaze.

The dream released her, and she floated back up into consciousness, stabbing pain trailing in the wake of her passage. She sat up in bed just as Pansy appeared with her morning breakfast tray.

The rest of her day passed uneventfully, with her confined to her room as Theo and Phaedra both slept off last night's romping about. Pansy came in with lunch and dinner with updates (Theo had gone home around three p.m. finally) and she'd started in on the tome that Pansy had given her about Asian Vampires, though, which helped to pass the time.

By ten o'clock, she made ready for bed. Before she slipped under the sheets, on a whim, she reached into her Bag of Holding and pulled out the titanium serpent's ring Malfoy had given her. She'd been careful to keep all jewelry inside the bag and hidden away, but right then, she needed to feel close to _him_ for some reason, so she slipped it onto her right ring finger.

As she slid under the covers, she stared into the glittering, unblinking emerald eyes of the snake and wondered once more how _he_ was holding up. Her heart was never far from thoughts of Malfoy, it seemed. They'd only seen each other for a short while before they'd been separated again by fate. Although it had been only a few days, it seemed like an eternity in these enclosed, suffocating walls since she'd heard his voice. She recalled the vision she'd had last night of his fourteen year-old self watching her during the Yule Ball, and then matched it up to the memory of the look he'd given her just before she'd apparated away off that beach in Kirkwall… The same longing existed, and could not be hidden, even behind such carefully composed features.

_Draco_, she thought, closing her eyes, wishing she had the same gift that Vampires did with mind magic, so she would be able to talk to him across the miles, inside the safety of her mind._ I miss you._

Perhaps it was her imagination, but just as Hermione was drifting off to sleep, she could swear she felt the ring constrict around her finger with a gentle squeeze.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Pansy was sitting on the edge of the bed when Hermione awoke the next morning. The dark-haired woman passed her a breakfast tray carefully, balancing it to assure that the cup of strong coffee she'd brought up didn't spill in the exchange. With a stretch and a yawn, Hermione took the tray, thanking her one-time rival for her consideration and kindness. Despite the fact the coffee was coal black and tasted bitter, she finished it all, munching around a croissant at the same time.

Thankfully, last night had been dream-free, so there was no headache to incapacitate her today.

Sensing a strange vibe on the air, Hermione looked up to find Pansy staring at her right hand. Obviously, the Queen of Slytherin recognized the symbol – and who it belonged to. She was frowning mightily. Hermione didn't say anything, just stared at Pansy as she continued to eat and drink.

"Theo's coming this afternoon for you," Parkinson informed her. "He says something's changed, and that he can't leave you here for even one more day. I'm not sure what's going on, because his message was very curt, but I suspect my mother will move on you tonight."

Hermione's attention snapped to immediately, and she swallowed her mouthful quickly. "What do you mean?"

Parkinson sighed. "When she touched you the first day you came here, I'm sure she sensed Cor all over your aura. And now that Theo has claimed to want you for his own… Phaedra's a jealous woman, Granger. Your life was forfeit the moment she knew you'd touched her regular boy-toy, much less the man she's been trying to make her second dedicated paramour for the last year. I tried telling you that the other day."

Hermione considered this. "Phaedra wants Theo, too?"

Pansy nodded. "Badly. Apparently, he's very… well endowed… and vigorous in bed. Enough to please my mother anyway."

Fire crept up Hermione's cheeks as she recalled the feel of Nott's rather sizable erection pressed against her. She cleared her throat, not wanting to think of Theodore in such a fashion. "Okay, so why hasn't your mum come after me yet? She's had days."

Slim shoulders shrugged. "Theo's been distracting her. She's too heavily sated after sex for at least a day or two to be bothered with anything. But she didn't ask him to come back today, and I think that's the sign Theo's been waiting for." Pansy passed a croissant over to Hermione without thought. "He's good at reading people, Granger. I trust him. If he thinks it's going down tonight, then we're breaking out today - all of us. It might be our only chance."

Hermione ran a hand through her tangled hair. "How many exactly?" she asked, "And what was your plan for getting all of us out of here together?"

Perfect, rouged lips pursed. "There's twenty-four of us total, including me, you, Theo, Fay, Astoria and Daphne," Parkinson counted up. "The floo in the back bedroom is our way out. Theo's going to open one on his end, apparate to the edge of the wards around this place, and he's going to make out like he's coming here to visit you for a quick fuck. He'll bring you down to my room, masking your aura with his own when he crosses into the North Tower. I'll have gathered all of my people into my room by then." The former Slytherin brushed her bangs back from her forehead. "I'm not sure how we're going to apparate everyone to your group's location, though. I was hoping you'd had a plan for your own escape that could facilitate."

Hermione nodded. "Portkey. Three jumps. Everyone's going to have to hang on, though, because they're pretty small items. That many people, I'm hoping no one gets lost or misses a jump."

Pansy swallowed, knowing what that might mean for the unlucky person left behind. "It's a chance we have to take."

Nodding in agreement, Hermione considered the plan carefully, seeing it as the only logical option.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Theo appeared bang on time at one p.m. He quietly closed the door behind him. "You ready for this?" he asked wearily. He looked _really_ worn out.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, concerned, jumping to her feet immediately and putting the book on Asian Vampires away in her Bag of Holding.

Her companion shrugged. "I'll be fine. We have to go though. No time. I'm sure Phaedra's sensed me by now, if she's awake."

He helped her collect her things, putting her wand back into her Bag of Holding and passing it off to her. She slipped it into her pocket, turned his wand on her to transfigure her features and then cast a Disillusionment Charm on both of them. He opened the door to her bedroom and carefully looked about, then snuck them out.

They managed to get only as far as the first floor of the North Tower before she felt their Disillusionment Charm ripped apart by some invisible barrier, and suddenly, they were exposed completely. The butch guard she'd spied the first day she'd been brought in rounded the corner ahead of them and stood casually in the middle of the route, as if she'd been waiting expectantly for them. Theo stiffened next to her, and he stepped back, pulling Hermione behind him. He recovered quickly. "Out of the way, slave," he sneered, his back straightening as he resumed the role of the vicious Death Eater. "I'm to see your Mistress, Pansy."

"I'm sure you are," came a familiar, crooning voice behind them, cutting off their only retreat. Hermione began quaking in her shoes even before she laid eyes on Phaedra Parkinson.

Theo turned his head casually, affecting nonchalance at being caught roaming the halls with his captured sex chattal. He gave The Madam a once over. "Perhaps you'd rather I lodge my complaint to you, then, Phae?" he asked, pulling Hermione in tight to him, pressing his wand against her back so she'd know he was prepared for a fight. "My woman hasn't had access to a proper bath in days. I expect that to be corrected for what I'm paying you."

Mrs. Parkinson's smirk was lazy as it wound up her cheek, and in her gaze – which was centered on _her_, not Theo - Hermione saw that the game was up. Phaedra knew who she was.

"I'm hurt, Theo," The Madam stated, although her tone was anything but triumphant. "That you didn't want to come see me again today. We've had such a nice time the past few days." Her lips pursed. "But then, I suppose that's what a good distraction is all about, is it not?"

Despite their cover blown, Theo kept up the disguise, probably hoping to throw enough doubt into the mix to give them an opportunity. "Well, I couldn't have you very well trying to touch what's mine when my back was turned, could I, Phae?" He lowered his voice seductively. "And besides, you know I enjoy spending time with you."

One dark eyebrow twitched upwards. "Do you, now? Well, then, you're in luck. It seems we're going to be spending much more quality time together now."

"You can just give me that wand now," another voice directly behind them made Hermione's heart start racing, "Or I'll simply _Avada_ you both with one shot. And what a shame that would be."

Theo froze. Hermione looked up over her shoulder into his dark eyes and saw regret and resignation. They'd been caught. She knew what that meant. Apparently, so did Theo. He nodded, and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he was Petrified. Toppling over stiffly, Hermione caught her friend before he hit the floor. In a flash, she reached for her Bag of Holding, cursing herself for not having her wand out and ready, but the feel of wood pressed to her temple stopped her short.

"Tsk, tsk, Granger," Cormac McLaggen taunted, and she felt him dissolve away transfigured features with a non-verbal spell easily. "Wouldn't want to Petrify you, too, now. Where would be the fun in that?"

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Cormac kept her tightly pressed to his rock-hard body, his wand at her neck when Phaedra reversed the Petrification spell from Theo – but not before prying his wand from his fingers. She then _Silencio_'d him and had her butch guard tie his hands behind his back and gag him.

The two were hauled through the corridor to Phaedra's private quarters, where Theo was dumped on The Madam's bed. Cormac pulled Hermione forcibly along to the couch, where he sat her between his legs and pulled her back until she lay against him. He kept his wand against her throat on one side, and bent his lips to the skin exposed on the other side. Behind her ribs, her heart was jackrabbitting a mile a minute.

_Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…_

"I've missed you, Granger," he murmured against her skin hotly. She shuddered in disgust. "Have you missed me?"

It took her two tries before her courage returned. "Not really. I haven't given you much thought at all." It was a blatant lie, but there was no way she was letting this twisted animal know she'd even given him a second of consideration, much less that she'd been practically destroyed by what he'd done to her.

"Shame," he teased, flicking a tongue out to play with her earlobe. "Perhaps I'll have to refresh your memory then."

On the bed nearby, Phaedra had cast _Incarcerous_ on Theo and he was now bound to the metal posts with wire. She was crawling across him, a hot, lusty look in her shimmering, exultant eyes. "I suppose your bitch Mistress told you I was here," Hermione attempted to keep him talking, stalling, buying time to work through a way out of this mess. If only she could reach her wand in her Bag. It was in her left pant pocket – right where Cormac's free hand was touching her, as if he could sense it there.

McLaggen chuckled. "She sent me a note a few days ago, yes, but I was busy on an errand for the Dark Lord. I only got in this morning."

Hermione sniffed in disdain. "And like a good, whipped dog, you came to heel."

"If you'd like to think that," he whispered in her ear, sounding supremely confident that what she had said was absolutely _not_ the case. Was Cormac not so loyal to The Madam as he pretended then? His free hand roamed over her crotch and she closed her legs abruptly, trapping him in a steel grip to prevent his perverted wanderings. He actually laughed this time, amused by her attempts.

She tsk'd in annoyance, trying not to let her internal terror override her lion's bravado, as it had the last time she'd been under his control. "What happened to you, Cormac?" she whispered, disdainfully. "You were a charming boy in school. I liked that person."

He bit her shoulder hard, making her cry out in pain. "Did you now? Could have fooled me, Granger."

She thought on how bitter he sounded, and realized his meaning instantly. Twisting around to try to look him in the eye, she gaped. "Are you mad at me… for that Christmas party in Sixth Year? _Seriously? _Are you kidding?"

His handsome features were twisted with a sneer of hatred. "You played me that night, slut." His free hand skimmed up her body and grabbed her left breast rather hard, pinching the nipple cruelly and he smirked when she cried out again at the hurt he inflicted. "But I got you back, didn't I?"

She held his gaze, despite the sharp bite he was delivering. "Cor, stop this," she demanded. "If I hurt you, I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention. But this… this isn't who you were. This war has driven you mad."

He narrowed his eyes venomously. "You have no idea, Hermione." He swooped down and kissed her, crushing her mouth. She bit him hard, but he pinched her nipple spitefully again and she pulled back with a gasp. He licked the blood off his lips, angry, but undeterred. A vicious electric jolt hit her through his wand, and it _hurt_, making her limbs go numb. She screamed. "Now behave or I'll _Crucio_ you until you beg me to stop," he threatened seriously.

Terrified, Hermione stared at him in horror. "What _happened_ to you?" she asked again, vehemently. "What happened to the boy who wrote me such pretty poetry, asking me to go out with him again after that night? You were a Gryffindor – 'brave and true,' remember? How could you become a Death Eater – a _Tracker_? How could you do such vile, cowardly things, Cormac? _How __could__ you?_"

The princely blond said nothing, but she saw the tick in his jaw where he was obviously not pleased by her line of questioning. He kept his eyes on his lover across the room instead, focusing on what Phaedra was doing to avoid answering her. "You should know that she's going to do terrible things to your boyfriend over there," he leered, indicating with a nudge of his chin to where Theo was now being stripped of his clothes by Phaedra. He slowly turned his gaze back to hers, and in his honeyed orbs, she saw cold apathy.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," Hermione countered angrily, lifting numbed fingers to try to fight off his hand as it crept around her waist to forcibly turn her so she'd have her back to him once again – so she'd be forced to watch what The Madam was doing to her friend.

Cormac grinned at her, his luminous eyes shining with mirth. "I know. It doesn't matter anyway, since you're mine now, at last," he gleefully explained. "The fun's only started, Granger," he mocked as she squirmed in his arms, trying to pull his increasingly insistent hand away. "Relax and enjoy the show. _Imperio_."

Hermione felt the mind control spell take a firm hold of her consciousness in an instant. "I said relax, Granger," McLaggen directed her, and her body eased back into his without further complaint, turning as he indicated and seating herself back between his legs comfortably. "That's good," he uttered against her ear. "Now, I'm going to touch you, and I want you to enjoy it naturally. Pretend I'm your beloved and we're making love." He said the last cruelly, but Hermione's mind interpreted his words as orders, and so when he started molesting her, her body responded. Helplessly, she screamed inside the confines of her mind and tried to fight against the control he wielded over her, but it was a vain struggle as he pressed his will - backed by the spell's strength - down upon her, tamping it effectively.

Within minutes, Cormac grew bored feeling her up over her clothes, and decided to move things along. "Stand up for me," he spoke gently to her and she obeyed. "Turn around to face me," he commanded and she did. "Now, take your clothes off." Her hands moved, pulling her shirt up and over her head, throwing it to the floor. Her bra followed. Then, she bent and removed her shoes and socks. Next, she unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers. Pulling them and her knickers at the same time down, she shed the last of her decency and awaited his next command. She felt her cheeks blazing with shame and embarrassment, but was unable to do anything to prevent it; she was entirely at McLaggen's mercy.

Her former schoolmate's golden-brown gaze appreciated her for a long minute before he put his wand down on the floor next to the couch and held his arms out to her. "Come here and straddle me." She fought him with everything she had, and could taste the sweat over her lip from the effort. He simply grinned and crushed her resolve brutally with a mental kick to her magical spirit. "_Obey me_," he demanded in that same soft tone, and with no choice, her legs moved to do as he wanted.

When she was seated on his lap, he wrapped his arms about her waist. "I've definitely missed you, Granger," he tenderly told her, rubbing up and down her bum. "I've thought about our last time together every day since," he admitted in an intimate whisper. "You're the girl for me, I decided a long time ago, and nothing's changed since. Everyone else was just pretend until we could be together again." He tilted his beautiful, devil's face up to hers. "Now kiss me."

Hermione bent her lips to his, but he stopped her just before they touched. "Kiss me like you would Draco Malfoy," he amended with an evil sneer. Her eyes closed, and her body adjusted to the new condition placed upon it, her fingers tentatively moving between them to stroke his cheeks with soft caresses. All her mind could see was Draco in that moment and she kissed the man under her very, very tentatively, a soft, quick pull of lips that moved away nervously, as she would if this were really Malfoy. She shyly pulled back, shaking, and her lids peeked open to see Cormac's face, a mirror of puzzlement.

"That's not how you kiss your lover," he bitterly informed her. "I want you to kiss me like you do _him_."

Hermione blinked. "I've never kissed Draco Malfoy," she evenly informed him.

McLaggen's face became incredulous. "Don't lie to me! I demand you tell me the truth."

"I've never kissed Draco Malfoy," she reiterated, forced now to precise veracity. "I've never touched him sexually. He isn't my lover."

Cormac's attention turned to Phaedra on the bed. "You told me she was fucking that Malfoy brat," he accused, wicked pissed now.

Hermione couldn't see what The Madam was doing to Theo, but she was obviously occupied sucking on something, given the kissing and slurping noises in the background, and so she didn't bother replying to the indictment. Cormac's whole body was rigid and tense with anger.

"You're the only man I've had sex with," Hermione continued, compelled by his order to continue to tell him the truth. "You took my virginity when you raped me. I hate you. You hurt me. You've done so many horrible things, Cor. You're a bad man."

Panting in fury now, McLaggen grabbed her upper arms and shook her once. "Shut up," he hissed and Hermione shut her mouth as ordered. He grabbed the back of her hair tightly, fisting it, and dragged her mouth down to his. "Kiss me like you want me, damn it," he snarled, and Hermione had no choice but to obey.

His hands roamed every inch of her then, kneading, stroking, pinching, slapping. When he parted her thighs and inserted two fingers into her, and she whimpered at the pain of being opened up once more – the last violation had been him, over a year ago - he stopped and pulled back, staring at her in shock. She stared down at him silently, unable to speak because of his orders, but her tears flowed nonetheless, dripping onto his cheeks and pulled downward by gravity so as to make him appear the one crying. They locked gazes. In that moment, she saw something she'd never thought she'd see: Cormac McLaggen's doubt.

He withdrew his fingers from her body and moved her off him. She was laid back into the couch gently, and then he stalked over to Phaedra and pulled her bodily off of Theo with violence. "You bitch!" he screamed in her face. "She's never touched _him_! You lied to me!"

Hermione saw his mistake the instant he had made it. The Madam – the strongest Sex-Witch in centuries – simply pressed her hand to Cormac's face and he shut down, a prisoner to her desires now. "What does it matter, darling?" she crooned to her now-complacent lover. "The woman is yours. Go take her as you've always wanted." She shoved him back towards the couch, but Hermione could feel her aura palatable in the air as it followed McLaggen's retraced steps, compelling him in a very similar manner as the Imperius curse was compelling her.

Cormac crossed back to her, his eyes hot with lust now, his face dark with the need to possess her, and he fell upon Hermione, pushing her back into the couch, his mouth frenzied over hers. "You're going to let me fuck you," he growled against her lips, and her body loosened itself at the charge and she lay limply, crying and silent as he began shucking his clothing.

When he was fully naked, he pressed himself over her, kissing her lips with bruising force. He commanded her to stroke his cock and to touch herself so she would be wet for him, and Hermione fought again, but in the end, the Imperius Curse was too strong and her body reacted as required. When he was ready, he told her to enjoy what they were going to do, and to participate fully, and then he slid inside her with a moan. It hurt, as he was big and he stretched her ill-used body out once more. "You belong to me," he whispered lovingly to her. "You see, Granger? You're mine. You've always been mine, just like I dreamed. We're together now."

In her head, Hermione screamed for Draco again. _Please, help me. I need you!_

Her right hand burned, and she turned her head in time to see the snake ring Malfoy had given her magically come to life. It released its tail from its mouth and slithered up her arm towards Cormac's face, which was buried in her shoulder as he pounded away inside her, oblivious to the danger. Stunned, and still under the command of the Imperius Curse not to speak, Hermione could only lie there and watch as the silver snake with the glittering eyes made its way sinuously around her bicep towards its destination. What would it do?

She lost track of it behind Cormac's blond, wiry hair, but an instant later, he slapped away at the side of his cheek and howled with pain, withdrawing from her body and sitting back on his haunches. "Ow!" he hollered, rubbing his face, at first lightly, then with increasing fervor. "That fucking hurt! What the hell did you do?"

He hadn't exactly given Hermione any orders, so she lay there submissive and silent, watching him scrub away at his flesh. When he moved his hand enough, Hermione glimpsed two small pricks of blood welling up from his golden skin.

"Answer me!" he demanded, and now Hermione had no choice but to talk.

"The snake bit you," she told him matter-of-factly.

McLaggen looked around, but clearly saw nothing resembling a snake nearby. "What the fuck are you talking about? Explain."

Hermione blinked once, forced to speak the truth. "The snake ring I was wearing. I forgot to take it off this morning to hide it before you captured us. It was a gift from Malfoy. It came alive and bit you. I don't know how."

Cormac's eyes widened in fear. "What is it exactly? Where is it? Where did it go?" He was chafing his jaw and cheek now, and Hermione noted the skin was dusking, flaking where he rubbed.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. She looked at her right hand, which still rested on Cormac's Dark Marked forearm, but the ring had not returned. "It was a gift. I don't know what it is other than a ring. It didn't come back. I don't know where it went."

He started screaming then, clutching at his face. The skin under his fingertips was blackening into necrotic tissue.

Phaedra finally took notice of the proceedings, and she jumped off the bed and approached warily. "Cor? What's happening?" Her sultry voice was tinged with fear.

Cormac jumped up and started scratching at his face, tearing gouges into the flesh. "It burns," he shrieked. "Do something!"

The Madam stared at him, dumbfounded for an instant, and then she moved forward to touch him with her wand. Before she got within ten centimeters of him, she withdrew several steps with a hiss. "Assassin's magic," she identified the aura and backed away as far as she could, hitting the back wall of her room, her eyes wide with panic. "What did you do to him, you bitch!" she screeched at Hermione.

As Phaedra was not her Master, Hermione was not compelled to answer her. Instead, she lay passively on the couch and watched as Cormac McLaggen's face slowly disintegrated in a blistering, peeling, ashy mess. He screamed and screamed, reaching for his wand, trying any spell he could think of – _Finite Incantatum_, healing spells of all sorts, even _Aquamenti_. Nothing reversed or slowed the slow crumbling of his skin, which was spreading, now enveloping his jaw, heading for his perfect lips and nose, bleeding downwards and upwards at a steady pace.

Whatever the spell was, it distracted Cormac enough for the Imperius Curse to evaporate, and in an instant, Hermione was on her feet, her will her own once more. She reached for his wand and _Stupefy_'d Phaedra before the woman could come to her senses and act. Then, she turned to Cormac.

For an instant, as she looked at his dissolving face, she felt horror at what she had unwittingly wrought upon him; what was happening to him was _ghastly_. And for a shameful instant, she considered letting it continue. After all he'd done, and after all the evils he'd committed, this seemed almost a justified end. A fair trade of pain for the pain he'd caused; an eye for an eye.

But this wasn't Hermione's way.

No matter how deserving a person may be to their fate, or how hardened she'd become over the years, she was no Death Eater to revel in the torture of another. Cormac's life was now hers to decide what to do with, and she chose a path that felt right to her. Lifting her wand, she tried every spell she could think of as well to slow the tide of the damage. Eventually, she turned and looked towards the couch, seeking the ring, and found it lying amongst the cushions. She picked it up – perfect once more in its circular form – and did something she didn't think she'd ever do: she begged for Cormac McLaggen's life to the Dark Magic.

"Please, don't let him die this way," she asked it. "Help me save him. I don't want this."

The ring's eyes glinted in the firelight from the hearth, and then the creature moved, changed again, the eyes bleeding their normal color to a citrine yellow instead. She brought the slithering ring up to the twitching Cormac's other cheek and hoped, prayed. The thing bit down on his fleshy side of his face, and instantly, McLaggen's body shuddered, going stiff. His eyes wide, his chest heaving, he went still. Whatever magical, ancient poisons the ring carried seemed to work, as the degeneration of his face and neck stopped, and there was no bleeding out. The devastated skin did not repair itself, however, and after several seconds of waiting to see if it would and noting it remained the same, she finally lifted her wand and cast a healing charm over his damaged face. Slowly, the skin knitted back together. It would scar permanently, and he'd be uglied, but at least he'd be alive.

She let out a relieved breath and looked down at the ring in her hand, which had resumed its shape, its eyes returning to their normal shade of emerald. "Thank you," she breathed, and she swore the thing winked both eyes in acknowledgement at her. She slipped it back onto her hand, turned and redressed quickly, casting an anti-pregnancy charm on her belly, just in case (although Cormac hadn't finished in her, she was still not taking chances), and then cast _Incarcerous_ at both Phaedra and Cormac, to assure neither could move – which seemed likely anyway, since Parkinson was unconscious, having smashed her head hard against the wall earlier when Hermione hit her with the stunning spell, and McLaggen was in shock, lying unmoving on the floor.

She turned to Theo, who was staring at her like he wasn't sure whether to worship her as a goddess or cringe from her in terror. She cast to remove the wires from his body, and healed him. She turned her back to give him privacy then, and he righted his clothes and gathered his wand from where Phaedra had placed it next to her bed on a side table. Her attention returned to Cormac's injuries once more in the interim, making sure the healing spell was taking root.

"Why did you do that?" Theo finally asked in the silence of the room, his voice truly disconcerted. "Why save him? I would have let him rot."

Hermione sighed. How could she explain? She struggled for the words, but finally came up with the simplest explanation. "Because no one deserves to die like that."

Theo snorted. "I beg to differ. If anyone has earned a painful death, it's that bastard at your feet."

She touched Cormac's face gently, and his eyes shot to hers, beginning to bleed out of shock and back into sanity. His whole frame shook from the adrenaline starting to pump through his veins. "You wrote such beautiful poetry once," she murmured to him, unsure as to why that mattered, or why she'd even speak of it. "What happened to that boy?" she wondered again sadly.

McLaggen blinked back sudden tears, but they steamed silently down his face despite his attempts to banish them. He said nothing, perhaps because it hurt too much to talk, or perhaps because he didn't know how to respond, but regardless, Hermione saw the regret over the loss of his innocence and strangely was moved to pity. It was not enough of a feeling to allow her heart to forgive him for all he'd done, but it was enough to know that she'd never, ever want to end up like him. This war, she decided firmly, would not take her sanity or her personal morality from her, as it had Cormac McLaggen.

"Let's go get Pansy," Theo offered her a hand up, and she took it. "I think she has some unfinished business with her mother to attend to."

With a weary sigh, Hermione accepted Theo's help and regained her feet to the crackling of her knee joints, and the two headed out towards the opposite end of the wing, their continued hold on each other's warm hands necessary to remind them both that they were alive.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The group of twenty-four loyalists to the insurgency split up into teams of eight (one group for each wing of the former dormitory) to free The Madam's House of its shackles. Struggles echoed throughout the hallways for three hours, but thankfully, Pansy had managed to steal many of the confiscated wands back from her mother's collected stash prior to her attempted escape, so the group put up a valiant fight and eventually, with the help of the workers, who had suffered abuse and torment at the hands of their clients, the final count was four dead Death Eaters (no one of consequence on the rungs of power, unfortunately), six dead Snatchers (two of whom had worked for Fenrir Greyback), and two dead prostitutes. When the fighting ended, the survivors who didn't want to join up with the cause (which was the majority – numbering only thirty total to offer their service) grabbed what they could – clothes, food, whatever small belongings they'd managed to hide away over the years – and after having their tattoos burned off their bodies, they headed for the hills, running out the front door and into the darkening streets.

Hermione, Pansy, Theo, Fay, Astoria, Daphne and Su headed back towards Phaedra's suite when the fighting had ended, leaving the others to stand watch at the front door and to move throughout the rooms to collect what goods they could (Hermione transfigured a bunch of Bags of Holding on the fly for them). When she crossed the threshold into the Madam's room, Hermione's eyes were drawn to the carpet before the couch. Cormac was gone, fled somehow from his bonds. His wand, which Hermione had dropped on the carpet heedlessly when she'd left with Theo, was missing as well, which gave her a clue as to how he'd escaped. Phaedra, however, was right where Hermione had left her, still unconscious. It would seem that her former housemate had left his traitorous mistress in the end to her fate, perhaps out of retribution for her supposed deceit.

Hermione stood side by side next to Pansy and put her hand on the Slytherin Queen's arm as the woman stepped forward. "Wait."

Pansy whirled on her, wand in Hermione's face, fury stamped across her features. "Let me go, Granger. I thought _you_, at least, would understand!" she accused scathingly.

Staring calmly down at the wand before her, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Who says I don't?" she countered, grinning like a shark. She pointed her wand at Phaedra again and with a perfectly executed _Levicorpus_, she brought the woman's body back up onto the rumpled bed. "Su, could you come here, please?" she requested over her shoulder, sensing the presence of the others hovering in the hallway outside, keeping an eye out for trouble. The Asian girl was suddenly at Hermione's side, having made no noise, as silent as a cat. "Will you do me a favor?" she asked the half-Vampire.

Su nodded. "Anything," she replied. Apparently, being kind to a Vampiress had its perks.

"I need to know what's in her head. Death Eater names, locations, Mort's plans, any special spells that she may know, etcetera. Can you get that information for me?" Hermione asked.

Almond eyes narrowed, and then Su nodded. "With pleasure." She stepped into the room fully with a grace that made every woman Hermione had ever seen walk – including Phaedra – look clumsy by comparison; Su practically _glided_. Phaedra didn't even twitch when her artery was pierced by the half-Vampire's sharp canines. Hermione crossed her arms and looked at Pansy out of the corner of her eye, smirking. "This we need, since we're losing your network."

Parkinson smirked and shrugged. "As long as I get to kill that bitch when Su's done, I'm okay with it."

Hermione reluctantly nodded. She'd implied her help in Pansy's revenge when she found out the woman's tragic story, and as a woman herself, she sympathized. Being raped was horrible; being raped and force to enjoy it by the misuse of magic by your own mother – the one person you trusted all your life never to hurt you and to care for you, as she'd been the bearer of your life… that was unforgivable. "Make it a quick death," she gave in with a deep sigh, knowing that if she denied this personal justice to Pansy, the woman would turn her back on them forever. This was the only way to keep her on their side. Still, she would make her conditions firmly known, and brook no argument or tolerate any deviance. "No torture. We're not Death Eaters."

"Fine," the dark-haired witch agreed, reaching behind her back and drawing out the knife sheath that Hermione had given her a few days ago. She withdrew the blade and looked at it carefully, then back up at her mother. Her grin was wholly evil. "I know just where the opening in the ribs is to get to the heart, anyway."

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The group left The Madam's House with finality around eight o'clock that night, assuring everyone was out of the buildings and all that they wanted – including bedding, mattresses and bathtubs shrunk down for easy transport, food, clothing, toiletries and an assortment of odd baubles, all shoved into the fantastic Bags of Holding – was stripped from the place. They withdrew into the safety and shelter of an alley across the street as Hermione raised her wand and cast _Fiendfyre_ on The Madam's House, burning it to the ground, cleansing the world of its filth and depravity once and for all. It took less than eight minutes for the three wings to collapse, and for the fire to start seeking out new targets. Using all her will, Hermione countered the casting and the demonic flames were instantly extinguished.

This spell, she decided then and there, would be her counter to _Morsmordre_ from now on.

"Everyone ready?" she asked, holding the first of three portkeys – a leather man's belt – in hand. Theo took the other end, stretching it out. "Grab on." She waited until every hand was touching the item, and then spoke the charm for activation. That weird feeling of being pulled and dangled by a hook through the guts took hold and shutting her eyes, Hermione and the others left Stratford-On-Avon hopefully for the last time.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

_**

* * *

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**The events I detail about the Yule Ball come directly from the novel, not the movie! **


	15. Ch 14: Homecomings Can Be Hurtful

**Chapter Fourteen: **_**Homecomings Can Be Hurtful**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Wednesday, September 6, 2000**

The camp's long-range perimeter alarms screeched, and Penelope scrambled up from her bed, where she'd been resting after a three hour watch earlier that afternoon. She hadn't slept well the night before, Tony's death preying on her mind, and had needed just a few extra hours to catch up. She'd gotten two. It would have to do for now. Throwing her cloak on and hastily lacing her boots back up, she rushed out of her tent in time to catch sight of Blaise Zabini hurrying to the perimeter, barking orders as he marched through the camp on his way out. She rushed to his side in an instant, wondering where Nev was. She scanned the gathering crowd, but didn't see him.

"Clearwater, Stretton, Weasley, Bradley – you're first line with me," the dark-skinned man ordered, pulling her attention immediately at the calling out of her name. "Wood, Swann, Markham, Krum, Arcos, Istok – second line, three meters back and apart." He pointed to Pucey. "You, your girlfriend and her Romanian friend Toia, Longbottom, Cadawallader, Jones and Snape – third line in back, cover the camp and be prepared to pack up fast."

Everyone scrambled, and Malfoy strode up silently to fall into step beside them. The others walked slightly behind, recognizing the trilogy of leadership and power before them.

They got out to the second set of markers before Penelope broke the grim silence finally. "Granger?" she dared to ask, feeling a strange fluttering in her gut. She had a lot of apologizing to do to her Captain once the woman returned, and wasn't looking forward to that confrontation.

Malfoy was silent, not replying, his eyes glinting with fever in the half-moon's light. Blaise shrugged, adjusted his robes on his shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. You wanna take a look?"

Penelope shook her head. "Mind's fuzzy. I just woke up. Send Stretton." A scout needed to be hyper alert, she knew, which she definitely was not at that moment. She struggled to clear her head without a cup of coffee to ease the transition.

"Aye-ffirmative," Zabini chuckled darkly, using a Jeremy-ism. He turned slightly to look over his shoulder, spying the shaven haired man close on their left. "Let me know who's out there, will you?"

Stretton nodded once and took off through the knee-high grass low to the ground and faster than a normal person could move, and Penelope wondered again if the man wasn't hiding a secret about his true self. He got another twenty or so meters out before stopping and standing up, quickly taking two steps back. That reaction made everyone else behind him grind to a halt instantly, wands out and at the ready. If Stretton was acting weird, you knew to be prepared for the worst.

"Out and down!" Malfoy ordered to those behind him. "Three meter spread. No sound."

Everyone immediately dropped and did as their leader directed, nervously panning the sky and the horizon for incoming trouble. Jeremy took another few steps back, his whole body thrumming. Penelope could literally feel the air trembling about the man. A weird hissing-growling noise came on the wind, and she realized it was coming from Stretton, too, who was now visibly shaking.

Malfoy moved, keeping himself as low as possible, crossing half the distance to Jeremy and stopping, crouching down again. "What's there?"

It was difficult to see so far ahead, but even from where she was, Penelope could see a large group of black, inky shapes approaching far, far off in the distance. Jeremy's growling grew louder. He stepped back again, looked over his shoulder to search for something, and connected eyes with Willem Bradley, noting the man's position. He then swung his gaze back around to the approaching group and stepped back until he was almost equal to Malfoy's side.

"Vampire."

The word was hissed with a hatred that bordered on fury, matching a flaring, crimson aura that visibly appeared around him. Penelope sat back on her heels in awe and alarm, watching Stretton's magic lick the ozone rising from the grasses around him, lashing out with fiery tendrils before collapsing into itself once more and evaporating in a red mist. She shivered sensing the dispersing heat as it rolled over her across the distance, and beside her, she saw Blaise react similarly. Malfoy, she noted, had simply stared up at his fellow soldier through narrowed eyes, unaffected by the strength that had struck against his own magical shields.

It would seem that there was power behind Jeremy Stretton that no one had fathomed before. And Malfoy as well.

"You're sure?" their blond leader asked, requiring confirmation, and the former Ravenclaw nodded firmly. "How many?"

Jeremy sniffed. "Only one." He was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet now. "But, I have to… I can't…"

Malfoy grabbed Stretton's arm to steady the man. "What's going on?"

It was Bradley who gave up the ghost. "He's half-Vampire himself," the tall, bulky blond revealed evenly. "That's why he can sense the other one."

As if burned, Malfoy's hand jerked away from Stretton, and all around him, there were indrawn breaths of shock from the group, Penelope among them. Jeremy didn't seem to notice or care. He was focused on the horizon, that weird growl still coming from his chest to vibrate the very air immediately surrounding them. He took another few steps back.

"Fuck," Blaise swore under his breath. "Makes sense now." He turned his head to look at Willem and the two men's gazes connected. Penelope watched all of this with great curiosity, trying to decipher the silent communication going on. Reading between the lines, she guessed that Blaise had finally worked out the reason for the weird tension between Jeremy and Willem over the last few days. Penelope had noted it as well, although she'd kept her suspicions to herself at the time. Now, with the final piece of the puzzle, she thought she finally understood, too.

She'd have to tell Nev as soon as they got back to camp.

Thinking about her fiancée brought up a painful set of anxieties all unto itself. She tried to squelch them, but as if they'd been called forth by a powerful summoning, they roared to the surface of her mind, turning her stomach inside out.

If Neville knew the truth, would he still want her to be his wife? She was scared to tell him, afraid he'd be discouraged by the fact that she couldn't have children. The miscarriage had ruined her womb, the mid-witch who had attended her when she'd been convalescing had told her so. She knew Nev wanted a big family, as he had been an only child; he talked about it often when discussing the future. Would he leave her when he found out she would never be able to give him one of his greatest dreams? If he walked out of her life, she would be destroyed. There was no denying now that she was emotionally tied-up in one big, intricate Gordian Knot with her fiancée.

_Now is not the time for this crap_, she thought to herself, and shut her eyes for a moment to clear her head. _Focus. Trouble's coming._

She opened her lids, forcing her internal agonies to the back of her mind for the moment and turned at a movement from the corner of her eye; Blaise was raising his wand and training it on Stretton's back. She did likewise in solidarity, preparing a few offensive spells, remembering from her school day prep in Defense Against the Dark Arts how dangerous Vampires could be.

"Don't!" Willem's panicked voice suddenly called out. "Don't hurt him, please! It's not his fault. He was born this way." Bradley was suddenly crouched at Penelope's other side, having scurried over quickly, looking up at Jeremy with oddly pain-filled eyes. "He's never met another of his kind. He's scared."

Blaise shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "He bit you, didn't he?" he asked the burly blond. "That's why you've been acting weird for days."

Willem lowered his head, and Penelope caught a faint blush staining his cheeks in the silvery light from above. "Yeah. He's… made me his. I can't escape."

A string of profanities was muttered under Zabini's breath. "I've read what Vamps can do when they lose it. Can you control him?" There was an unspoken threat under the black man's simple question, and it reflected in his dark eyes. Blaise, Penelope knew, would do whatever it took to keep them all safe – even if it meant putting down one of their own, a friend and brother-at-arms. She recognized a kindred spirit in the Battle Warlock in that way.

Bradley looked up at his - Master? Lover? What were they exactly? - thoughtful. "I'm not sure."

"Try."

That one word seemed to hold the weight of the universe for Willem, who shuttered his eyes and swallowed in fear.

"I'll have to kill him if he turns on us," Zabini warned.

Penelope actually felt Bradley's fear suffocating his magical energies. Not one who was attuned to such things normally, there was no denying the pure terror that rolled off of him in waves nonetheless. And yet, underneath it there lay something deeper, more profound. It felt arousing and inspiring, much like her love for Neville. She understood then why Willem Bradley seemed so tortured, and she felt pity for the man.

With a rather sizable amount of burgeoning respect, Penelope witnessed the tall blond's iron courage firsthand as Willem stood and approached Stretton – a very dangerous, unpredictable monster, for all intents and purposes - hoping to talk him down. _Props for guts_, she thought, knowing she wouldn't want to be the one to tackle the Vampire, even half of one.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Jeremy heard Will's voice call out his name like a silken caress against his skin, felt his lover's presence approaching from behind as sultry waves of heat, and his heart was cleaved in two directions at once. It was as if he were frozen between different types of fear: the terror of losing control of his baser self and unleashing violence in an effort to protect his mate versus the dread of losing Will permanently if his love were to see him for the monster he really was. The conflicting emotions were overwhelming, playing havoc with his senses.

He scented the air again, reached out tentatively with his mind at the same time, lingering for a moment over the other Vampire's aura, sensing its spiritual texture. It felt female. It even smelled like a woman to his heightened senses. It could be an effeminate man, but for some reason, Jeremy doubted this. He got the distinct impression that this was a Vampiress come to call. The rumbling snarl that was unconsciously ripped from his chest was vicious and it echoed through the quiet night violently. A female could take his mate away from him, as her gender alone guaranteed that she could give Will everything Jeremy could not – specifically, the outward social acceptance of being in a "normal, less sinful" relationship and, eventually, the possibility of having children. She was a very real threat to Jeremy's relationship.

Feeling his lover's presence right behind him, Jeremy backed up until their bodies almost collided. There were literally only centimeters between them when Will drew up short, and as if by some silent understanding, Jeremy didn't move any closer. It was sheer torture, though. He ached with the need to touch the man he loved, to run his fingers over his skin and kiss him, despite the danger. He fought back the nagging compulsion to shove the other man down into the dewy verdure and fuck him hard, to imprint onto his one, true mate - to make it clear to the world who Willem Bradley truly belonged to.

"Jer, calm down," Will coaxed him. Through their bond, Jeremy could feel his lover's nervous anxiety become his own. Bradley was scared - of him, of the situation, of what he knew the others might do to him if Jeremy lost himself to the monster within. "You need to control yourself," his lover's voice reached out to him, trying to soothe him.

Jeremy's whole being was tuned into his mate, seeking acceptance to help ease him down from the ridiculous heights of agitation he was climbing, but try as he might, Will had shut him out of his mind days ago, and he wasn't able to talk to him in their special way anymore. That only added to his misery, intensifying his distress. "You have to touch me," he entreated, his voice quavering with repressed violence. "Will… I'm not sure I won't… hurt someone. Everything in me wants to kill… to protect you from _her_. She's coming closer. You have to… you have to hold me back." He felt his sense and judgment faculties beginning to slide behind a scarlet haze of crazed temper with every step the Vampiress took nearer. He was literally spasming now, shuddering as his teeth elongated in his mouth. The fiend inside roared to the surface, and he felt his eyes bleed out their color. "Hold me, _please_," he begged, hanging on by a thread, scared for his very sanity.

Will closed the tiny space between them, marrying their bodies together finally – Jeremy's back to Will's chest – and strongly muscled arms reluctantly came up around Jeremy to cradle him tenderly. It helped to ease him back some, allowed him to regain some focus. Just in time, too, as in a blink, the Vampiress was unexpectedly standing before them - an Asian goddess with messy, long hair and dressed in mismatched clothing that looked entirely too thin for the chill weather.

It was silent for ten long seconds as they scoped each other out. Jeremy was wound up tight like a coiled spring, ready to fly apart in an instant, her mere appearance undoing the momentary calm Will's touch had graced. One wrong inflection or seemingly threatening twitch would be all it would take... Only his lover's arms about him kept Jeremy anchored to himself.

"I sensed you," the female shyly addressed Jeremy in a soft, gentle tone. She stared at him intently for half a minute, clearly trying to place him. "I remember you," she finally made the mental connection. "You were placed two years above, in my House. Jeremy Stretton." She said his name in a purr; it passed her lips with the evocation of a sunlit afternoon caressing rolling hillocks and made Jeremy shiver.

He dared not reply, barely able to keep his temper in check at the moment. This woman had been in his House with him? For five years until he'd graduated? How had he never known about her? He could feel the weight of her aura on him from here. Surely, they must have run into each other at Hogwarts? So, why hadn't he known what she was instinctively, as he did now?

Keeping her hands at her sides in a non-threatening manner, the Vampiress bowed slowly at the waist. "_Annyeonghaseyo._ My name is Su Li. You do not remember me, probably, because of the masking. In school, I was required to cloak my aura and bespell myself to be a blank spot in your mind." She looked properly chagrined. "I apologize for that trickery, but it was for both of our protections. The Headmaster requested you and I not… interact… in any fashion. He said it would cause territorial issues."

Her voice was absolutely hypnotic. Was she using magic on him to ease him down, make him drop his guard? Jeremy shook his head, blinking off the weight of what felt like a lulling enchantment and pressed forward, hissing and flashing fang. Will tightened his grip, holding them locked together to prevent him from moving. If he really wanted to, Jeremy knew he could break his lover's hold on him easily, but it was more important suddenly to shelter Will from Su Li's dark, haunting eyes as much as possible. Her gaze took in the tall, blond behind him with interest once her initial inspection of Jeremy had finished. "Don't look at him!" Jeremy screamed vehemently. "Don't _think_ to talk to him! He's _mine_!"

The Vampiress tilted her head, considering the situation. "I have not come to steal your mate. I did not even know you were here until a few minutes ago. I had thought our kind had been hunted to extinction by the Dark Lord by now." She blinked her large, dark orbs. "But you are here, and you _are_ like me, are you not? Only half."

Jeremy's heart was pounding in his chest, and he couldn't seem to find his voice. His mouth was dry and hot, and his gums stung from his teeth punching through so forcefully. They'd never been this long or sharp, and he had to keep his mouth open to keep from piercing his lower lip. He was panting like a lunatic. It was Will who finally had to speak for him.

"Yes, he is."

She nodded. "I thought as much. You could go out into the sunlight, like me. Back in school, that is." She knelt very, very tentatively before them, looked to the ground and lifted her right wrist to Jeremy. "I offer my pledge not to do you harm, Jeremy Stretton, nor to cause harm to your mate, so long as you are true in return."

Jeremy felt his heart suddenly slow without explanation. This… ritual… it seemed proper somehow. Instinctually, he knew Su Li was resigning to his greater strength, agreeing to _submit_, and like a switch had been turned off deep inside, his fury bled away in an instant. His shaking body lost its edge and returned to normal, his teeth retracted, and his mind cleared of the fog of rage. He did not move away from Will, still refusing to expose his mate to possible danger, but he wasn't quite so intent upon murder at the moment. The monster retreated… for now. "Stay away from what is mine, and I'll let you live," he threatened her, his voice whiplash intense still. "That'll be good enough."

She looked up at him passively, and nodded. "As you wish." With that, she stood in a fluid move, her long, dark hair swishing behind her, and the disaster was averted.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Blaise was _really_ angry. Jeremy had lied to them all, and put them in great danger. There would be a reckoning later, once things calmed down. Right now, though, he interrupted the foreplay to ask a very serious question of the Vampiress: "Why are you here? Who's with you?"

The exotic Asian turned to the man whose wand had been trained on her heart as soon as she'd appeared and smiled. "Hermione Granger brought me. We have just escaped The Madam's House."

Zabini's heart started pounding. _She_ was back! That sizable mob in the distance – _she_ was leading them, he was sure!

He cast a glance over at his best friend. Malfoy was standing now, his entire attention attuned to the front, to where _she_ was approaching, and Blaise was betting that tonight, Hermione would become Drake's finally. A part of him was sad that it meant he truly had to let her go now, but the other half of him knew that this was as it should be.

_Yeah, and about fucking time_, he thought to himself wryly.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Viktor stood in the second line of defense, near the middle, listening to the exchange between the group leaders and the strange woman who'd suddenly appeared before them. He wondered why none of them seemed concerned as to her odd movement. She hadn't apparated in; there hadn't been a crack of thunder accompanying her arrival. How did she move so fast?

Vampire, they had called her. And the other one – the scout – he was also _Vampir_.

In his own culture, it was believed that a person became one of the undead only if the person's family hadn't followed the proscribed and proper forty-day funerary rites after death, but Viktor knew that to be foolish superstition. As he'd learned in school, Vampires were actual beings; creatures with a blood disease. One had come to his classroom to teach for a week once during his Third Year at Durmstrang and he'd learned all about this species then.

When the female had announced that Hermione was responsible for bringing her here, Viktor rejoiced. His beloved was home safe! He moved up the line without concern or care of the consequences, wanting to see her, to touch her, and to assure himself that she was unharmed. He stopped at the big, black man's side – Zabini - eagerly waiting for her to come to him.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Charlie stood on shaking legs. Granger was back. So, maybe that meant…

"Is there a woman named Fay with you?" Charlie asked the Asian beauty, his whole insides quivering with anticipation. He prayed _she_ had made it out safe and alive.

The Vampiress nodded. "She comes with Granger."

Charlie's feet moved without thought. He took off at a dead run, ignoring the shout of Blaise to come back and hold the line. All he could think about was getting to _her_. His heart pumped like mad, his lungs ached as he sprinted. They were still quite a distance off – at least half a kilometer, maybe a bit more. When the incoming group came into view finally, he slowed, and then stopped entirely. "Fay?" he shouted, looking for her in the crowd of dark shapes ahead. "Fay!"

"Charlie!"

There was a shout of joy and then a silhouette disconnected itself from the group and _she_ was running across the grass towards him as heedless as he. He met Fay somewhere in the middle, and they embraced. The feel of her aura surrounded and cushioned him, and everything in the world suddenly was right again. He bent his head and stole her lips with a moan of longing.

"I'm sorry," she muttered in between kisses, her small fingers twining through his long hair, pulling it loose from its binding, gripping his shoulders tightly. "I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean it. What I said. _I didn't mean it!_"

Their auras entangled, melted together, and in Charlie's soul, he felt the rightness of them click into place. He'd waited all these years for this feeling to come into his life. He'd watched his brothers and his sister and his parents all find their own small measure of happiness, no matter how fleeting, but until now, Charlie had never known his.

This was meant to be.

He kissed her with a passion that defied the heavens. He didn't care about her past anymore. He didn't care what anyone else thought. All he wanted was _her_. "I love you," he whispered as his mouth met hers again and again, electricity shooting up and down his spine with each pass.

Her tears stained his cheeks as they pressed in. "I love you, too," she murmured back, kissing and tonguing him ardently.

Bodies were passing them on either side, and Charlie gave them no notice really, his whole being wrapped up in Fay's mouth on his, her body pressed against his heart.

"Whoa, feel that!" a woman said from nearby.

"A Sex-Warlock and a Sex-Witch. Man, that's _hot!_" some unknown male voice answered. "What do you think, Jules? Wanna give it a whirl, too?"

"Sure, Terry dear," the woman - Jules - replied. "Just as soon as you get me a warmer cloak. I'm freezing my arse off here."

There was laughter, and then the group was past, moving off, and Charlie finally registered what had been said about him, recognizing it instantly as the truth. Apparently, his family was in for a big surprise when he made it back to California. Things were definitely about to change.

He knelt down in the grass with the woman he loved, laying her back gently, uncaring who saw or how far out they were from camp. He needed her right then - to be thrusting away inside of her, tasting her heart in his mouth as she came for him again and again, exploring every centimeter of her body as he'd dreamed of doing for days. He needed to know she was really here and she was his, and that she wasn't going anywhere without him.

Never again would he let her go.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

_She_ was coming. Draco's whole insides twisted up. He swallowed, tried to maintain his composure. When Charlie shot past him, and he heard the man call out for Dunbar even from the distance, he was stunned, then a little jealous that he couldn't make himself do likewise for the woman he loved. Why couldn't he? Why couldn't they?

Astoria.

That one name ruined everything, reminded Draco of what he'd done, why Granger had left to begin with, and what his future held for him: a child. A woman he didn't love and didn't want was having his baby. What would she expect of him? How would her presence affect this homecoming?

Shit, he could feel that pull to pack again. It was faint, but it was there, and he fought against it. Greengrass was coming closer.

He concentrated on trying to see Granger as the crowd of bodies – there had to be twenty or twenty-five easily – came closer. One broke off from the others, jogged up, and it was _her_. As she came within range, he took a step towards her, but stopped, noting the mask of fury painted on her face, feeling her magical energies crackling with rage. Leveling her wand to his left, she let go with an _Incarcerous_ spell. Draco whirled about to see who she'd hit. Viktor Krum stumbled to his knees. A _Silencio_ was immediately cast against the man as well.

When he recovered, the big Bulgarian looked up at Granger in shock, his mouth dropping open, his eyes wide with confusion. She stalked past Draco without a word or a nod of recognition, her whole self focused on Krum. She stopped within half a meter of her old flame, her magical energies crackling with anger. Zabini took a step back in caution, Draco noted.

"You traitorous, lying _bastard!_" she snarled. "I trusted you!"

Ah, so here was their spy. Somehow, Granger had found him out. Apparently Dunbar had finally revealed her reasons for leaving camp, then, and it was as Blaise suspected all along - she'd run from someone she recognized as dangerous, and she'd taken Astoria with her. Draco stepped over to his woman's side, staring down at their enemy. "So, it _was_ you," he stated mystified. Glancing over at Zabini, he looked for confirmation. Instead, what he got was a shake of the other man's head. "What do you mean 'no'?" he asked his friend, gripping his wand tighter.

Blaise looked at Krum through narrowed eyes. "Doesn't add up," was all he said. "He wasn't one I pegged."

That took Draco by surprise. He'd assumed Krum, his two Romanian buddies and the second Bulgarian girl who'd come in with Anica Mainu had been his suspects. "Who then?"

His friend looked around. "Not here."

Hermione looked from him to Blaise. "What are you talking about?" She hadn't lowered her wand from her ex-boyfriend's face. "Fay and Pansy both confirmed that Viktor had been with a group of Death Eaters and Snatchers at The Madam's House last year. He's the reason Fay took Astoria and ran."

Draco was frowning, turning things over in his head. If not Krum, then who?

Snape strode up briskly right then, as if magically having been summoned, his black robes flaring behind him. "Viktor was there, Miss Granger, because he was working for _me_," he sneered. "I had him infiltrate the Death Eater organization last year, but pulled him out when I realized he was not a strong enough Occlumens. I can vouch for him, so let him up."

Everyone froze, confused.

"He worked for you?" Granger repeated, clearly astounded. She looked down at Viktor. "Why didn't either of you say anything?"

Snape snorted. "Should I divulge my whole network to you, then?" He tweaked an eyebrow and smirked. "You're not that good an Occlumens, either, Miss Granger."

Draco watched her carefully, her face transforming between incredulity, confusion, and resting on regret in seconds. The spells around Krum dissolved, and he gasped, leaning over. Apparently, the _Incarcerous_ spell had been a little too tight. When he looked up again, he was angry. Staggering to his feet, he stared down Granger, who opened her mouth, presumably to apologize. Before she got the chance, however, Krum turned on his heel and strode off.

"Captain, it's not your fault," Zabini muttered, stepping in close, putting his hand on Hermione's shoulder. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, but from where he was standing, Draco could hear him well. "You weren't wrong to suspect someone." Her head shot up in questioning, but Blaise just shook his head and made a slashing motion close to his chest to indicate they would talk about it later, not here. She seemed to understand as she nodded.

The large group of escapees from The Madam's House arrived then, and things became too chaotic for Draco to find a moment alone with Granger. It became doubly uncomfortable when a scantily clad Pansy appeared and, pushing the crowd aside, threw herself into his arms, literally. "Drake!" She started wailing the moment her arms went around his neck, and Draco was too stunned to gently pull her off. "Thank Slytherin!"

"Pans? You're… alive," he breathed in shock. He'd heard the rumors that she'd been working with her mother at the whorehouse, but he'd believed them to be lies. He'd truly thought her dead. What had she really been doing all these years?

She was here now, which meant Granger thought her safe, trustworthy.

Granger…

He peeked at her with a turn of his head, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was looking down at the ground, biting her lip. He took a breath to talk to her, when she abruptly looked up, that hard determination back in her eyes, then turned about and started barking orders for the new recruits to be made welcome and settled. She didn't once address Draco, much less look at him as she strode off.

Poker-hot anger stabbed into his guts, boiling under the surface. Why was she ignoring him? Was it because of Pansy? But it wasn't his fault!

That was the last straw. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he was going to pull Granger aside. It was time they got some things straight between them.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Hermione stalked towards camp, signaling the group behind to follow her lead. Crunching grass was loud in the open air about them. Biting back on the raging, hurtful jealousy pressing upon her chest, she focused on the details that needed immediate attention instead. "Clearwater, run ahead and make sure Pucey prepares enough food for thirty new recruits, and get him some help. Then, it's same drill as last time. You and Neville work out the sleeping arrangements," she charged, and her auburn-haired Second stood to attention and nodded.

"Yes, Captain," she called, and ran off towards the camp, moving swiftly.

"Stretton, reset the wards," she yelled, not turning to see if her orders were being followed, simply expecting them to be. "Zabini, set the watch," she commanded over her shoulder. "Whoever you feel best."

Behind her, Blaise called out three names - Arcos, Istok, and Swann - and set them up. He fell into step next to her immediately after and she caught him waving his wand in a circle about them, and heard the muffling spell cast. "There have been things happening around here you need to know," he murmured under his breath. "Rickett's dead. Murdered. We're not sure who. Someone in camp." She almost lost stride and stopped – would have, if Blaise hadn't grabbed her arm and kept her moving. "We'll talk later," he explained, "but right now, act like you know nothing. And trust only the core, no one else," he instructed her in such a low voice that it was doubtful anyone but the two of them heard. "And you should know: Stretton's a Vampire. Willem's his lover, although I get the impression he didn't want to be. They're on the outs. It's causing morale problems."

Hermione almost stumbled again. "Circe's arse, Zabini, I leave you alone for a few days and everything goes to hell in a hand basket," she swore and next to her, the dark-skinned former Slytherin chuckled. "Seriously, could it _be_ any worse?"

"Krum's obviously not the spy," he shrugged, coughing behind a hand and spitting to the side something that sounded like it came from deep in his chest. "But someone killed Tony. I've got ideas. Malfoy's been working with me on it."

They were at the edge of camp now, the lights very bright to her adjusting eyes. "Maybe it was a mistake bringing Astoria back here," she sighed. "But we were kind of rushed to get out." She ran a shaky hand through her messy hair. "We need to have a meeting as soon as possible. Bring in whoever you think we can trust and needs to be there. I have information to share."

He nodded. "I'll go help Pucey transfigure some chairs and a second table." He stopped her right at the edge of the tents with a gentle hand on her arm. "It's good to see you in one piece, Captain," he smiled charmingly. "We've all missed you. Especially _him_."

Hermione felt the heat run up her cheeks, and she suddenly couldn't meet Blaise's gaze, knowing who the 'him' in question was. "Th… thanks," she stammered.

Zabini ran ahead and she turned to address the tired, hungry new recruits. "Welcome to tent city," she joked. "Tomorrow, everyone will be assessed for their magical skills and abilities and assigned duties and fighting orders. Everyone works, everyone offers to help. We're a team here. No slacking. Tonight, we'll head to the main tent for dinner and make introductions. After dinner, you'll be shown your tents."

"I expect coffee, Granger," Theo growled, pulling through the throng to her side. "Hot and as black as midnight. Otherwise, I'm walking."

She grinned, flicking her new friend on his breastbone. "I guarantee that the way Pucey makes his cuppa, it'll put hair on your chest, Nott… finally," she joked, and there was stunted laughter as they all turned towards the light and the warmth of safety.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

After dinner – a vegetable and rice stew, with magically heated bread to accompany – Pucey passed out the dessert (a variety of warmed, package biscuits) with coffee and tea, while the group, which had doubled in size yet again, was lulled into the kind of comfortable conversation that can only come after a successful flight from danger. At the head of the main table, Hermione stood. "Now's as good a time as any for introductions," she stated simply. "For the new people who don't already know, I'm Hermione Granger. I'm…"

"The Captain!" Blaise interrupted, raising a glass, grinning ridiculously, "Our Super Woman!"

A series of whistles, clapping and catcalls from her core group followed, and Hermione shook her head, feeling her face light up. "Uh… yeah," she modestly covered. "I'm Second to our leader. He's the brains of this operation." With that, she finally turned to Malfoy, who was sitting down the other end of the main table. He frowned at her, obviously not liking the spotlight she'd just thrust upon him. _Tough cookies, darling_, she thought. She made a 'stand up, you idiot!' motion with her hand, and with a sigh, he reluctantly complied, folding his muscular arms over his chest.

"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself curtly, and sat back down immediately, his pale face pinking. It was so cute a reaction, Hermione had to purse her lips to keep her smile from showing.

Not wanting to embarrass Malfoy further, she turned to Blaise next, and motioned for him to stand and introduce himself. "Blaise Zabini. I'm _his_ Second when _she's_ not around," he pointed to Malfoy first as he talked, and then herself. "So, I guess that makes me Third." He indicated for Clearwater to stand next.

The red-headed woman let Neville's hand go and did as directed, also clearly hating the attention. "Penelope Clearwater," she turned to face the new group. "I'm the Captain's Second," she gruffily explained. "I set the duty roster with Zabini."

"So don't piss her off," Blaise advised with a wicked grin.

Clearwater snorted and sat back down, resuming her hold on her fiancée's hand. Neville grinned at her and gave her a small peck on the cheek, as if in reward for her going along with the program. Penelope, Hermione noted, blushed in pleasure, a small smile twitching the edges of her perfectly sculpted lips. Apparently, her former Gryffindor housemate was finally breaching the rough exterior of his Ravenclaw beauty. _Good for you two_, she thought, her heart warming.

"There's our Master Chef and Keeper of Supplies," she turned and speared Adrian next, who was walking between the tables back towards the prep area. He gave a slight bow of his head, undaunted by the consideration. "Adrian Pucey," he greeted with a grin, and continued on his original destination.

"Respect him and _Scourgify_ your own dishes and utensils when you're done, so he won't be burdened with the extra work," Hermione bid everyone. She looked at the rest of her table then. "I'll let you introduce yourselves, starting to my right," she indicated Willem to stand. He did so reluctantly.

"Willem Bradley," he nodded and sat back down, his gaze quickly traveling to Stretton's down the opposite end of the table then back to his plate.

And so it went around, with each member of Hermione's original team and the Romanian group introducing themselves. Missing only were the three individuals on patrol and, not to be unexpected, Viktor (who was probably ripping up the floor of his tent in angry pacing, if she knew him as she once did), and Fay and Charlie (Hermione had a feeling that the two wouldn't be able to keep from pawing each other to pieces immediately upon their reunion, and she tried not to let small, unworthy jealousy creep into her heart at their stolen moment of happiness; they deserved some privacy to sort things out between them). Instead, she let the new group know that there were a few others missing that they could introduce themselves to tomorrow morning at breakfast.

She then turned to the table of new recruits, starting with Pansy, and requested she begin for her side. As she sat back down, Hermione threw a quick glimpse at Malfoy again, noting him watching his former girlfriend behind a half-lidded gaze. She fought to tamp down her resentment once more. Had he really missed her in _that way_, or had Zabini just been trying to cheer her with false truths?

Theodore Nott's tall frame overshadowed the Slytherin Queen next as he stood, pulling her attention away from such negative feelings. Hermione's eyes swiped to Snape's face instead, only to see the man disinterestedly looking into his glass of water, leaning back in his chair. Why wouldn't Snape want his own son to know about their relationship? Obviously, he had his reasons, and they were evidently compelling enough for him to keep his distance from his only child, but still, she felt a little sorry for the Potions Master, then. It had to be hard to pretend not to care.

They went down the line quickly: Su Li (who watched the back of Stretton's head with interest), Daphne Greengrass (who, Hermione noted, made Theo attentively sit up and take notice when the tall, leggy blonde stood and identified herself), the identical twins Hestia and Flora Carrow (both of whom smiled openly at Adrian, making him blush), Romilda Vane, Tamsin Applebee, Tracey Davis, Katie Bell (who was eyeing Oliver Wood something fierce), Susan Bones, Demelza Robins, Natalie Fairbourne, Laura Madley, Mandy Brocklehurst, Marietta Edgecombe, Julie (call me "Jules") Parkes, Orla Quirke, Maxine O'Flaherty, Rose Zeller, Morag MacDougal, the fraternal twins Padma and Parvati Patil (their familiar, sing-song voices caused Hermione to gasp and tears to fill her eyes; in the confusion of the attack and portkeying around, she hadn't even seen them!), Terry Boot (whose gaze kept flickering over to Julie Parkes), Stephen Cornfoot, Cris Warrington, and Anna Mirfield.

Every single one of the names Hermione recognized as having been either in her grade, or within three or four years of her in either direction at Hogwarts. Good gods almighty! It was enough to make her want to cry, knowing that these people – many of whom she didn't know as well as she probably should – had given up a part of themselves, allowed themselves to be humiliated time and again, all so she, Malfoy and the others could continue to fight for them.

She made herself a promise right then and there to take care of them all the best she could. And tomorrow, she would start the planning of the team who was to go to America, opening up the opportunity to anyone else who wanted it. These people had sacrificed enough.

Taking his cue at the end of the introductory phase, Neville stood and explained the tent arrangements for the night to everyone. Hermione learned she'd be bunking alone, as usual, as Neville and Penelope had transfigured the current tents to hold larger groups of people inside, instead of trying to transfigure all new tents and set them up. A clever idea, actually. Longbottom offered to show people their bunks, and the musical chairs came to an end as the entire group from The Madam's House retired to their tents for the evening, clearly wiped out. With a shake of her head and a staying motion with her hand, Hermione non-verbally requested Theo, Pansy and Su stay behind. All three caught her signals and sat back down, watching the others leave while chewing on biscuits or sipping tea.

Hermione grabbed another coffee from Pucey with thanks and gulped down half of it in one go. She gave Blaise a subtle signal over the edge of her cup, and the man picked up on it immediately, clearing his throat.

"Leader conference," he announced and there were groans from the rest of her group as the majority stood to leave. "Severus – stay behind, if you will," he requested as an afterthought. The dark-haired former professor nodded and settled back in his chair.

Hermione turned to Pucey. "We'll take care of the dishes and leftovers," she offered with a tired smile. "Go have fun or rest."

He looked hesitant to leave the mess, but then shrugged and smirked. "As you command," he joked, and sauntered out of the tent behind Bradley. At last, only Blaise, Malfoy, Snape, Pansy, Su, Theo, Clearwater, and she were left, and everyone was situated at the main table now. With a wave of his fingers, Malfoy sealed the tent and made it privacy-proof (Hermione swore she would someday get him to teach her that trick).

"So," she began after a few seconds of silence. "Who goes first?" she asked hesitantly, taking another sip of her coffee.

"I want to catch Weasley up on this meet later," Blaise started the ball rolling, looking to her. "He's requested to me in private to be the one to lead any group going to America, so I think he should know what he's leaving behind so he can be sure of that decision."

Hermione nodded. "I agree. Anyone object?" No one did. "I leave it to you, Blaise," she offered. "But, wait until tomorrow, if you would. He and Fay… they need some time alone." Flames licked her cheeks as she recalled Fay's vivid memories of love making with Ron's older brother, and she took another sip of her coffee to cover her awkwardness. She had never thought of Charlie Weasley in that manner, and would prefer to keep it that way.

"I'll go next," Pansy offered, almost gleefully. She dropped her bomb without any pretense. "My mother's dead. I killed her, we set everyone in The Madam's House free, and Granger burned the place to the ground." She grinned wickedly and unapologetically. "Sorry, Severus, but you obviously won't be getting any more intelligence from us. But, on the upside, we just took down a den of vipers and a major source of power for You-Know-Who. And we've joined the rebellion officially." She stretched her hands above her head, cracking her knuckles at the same time. "I feel rather accomplished, actually."

Zabini was shaking his head back and forth, an amused expression on his handsome face. "_You_ were working for Snape all this time, Pans? I never would have pegged you for the type to pick a side."

"Why not?" she asked, doe eyed and serious, dropping her arms. "Don't think I was good enough to pull it off?"

Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, no, I know you could. _Did._ But you were always ruthless, amoral, and perfectly content to remain so, sweetheart. I assumed that meant you were into self-preservation more."

She sniffed, turning her nose up in faux derision. "You clearly never knew me. In case you missed it, _sweetheart, _I killed my mother today. I stuck a knife right into her evil, little heart. That's just about as ruthless and amoral as you can get. And I defy you to find a Slytherin who _isn't_ interested in self-preservation." She banged her fist on the table animatedly, a small smile gracing her lips, a feverish look of pride in her once-hopeless, dark eyes. "Silver and green to the core!" she chanted, with fervor.

"Slytherin to the end!" every former snake at the table replied to what was, apparently, the stated motto for their former Hogwarts House to live by. Even Snape muttered it under his breath. Hermione caught his eye and smirked in amusement, letting him know she'd heard him, and for the only time in their nine year acquaintance, her former teacher actually looked away first, self-conscious of actually having House pride.

Zabini broke up the mood with serious talk next. "Sorry I missed the fun in Stratford, but we've been having problems over this side." He looked over at Malfoy, who nodded that he should continue. "In case you all missed the show tonight, it appears that Jeremy Stretton's a Vampire."

"Half," Su corrected him. "Only half-Vampire, like me."

Snape sat up in his chair very slowly and looked at Hermione with incredulity. "You've let two of them into the camp at the same time?" he asked, sounded appalled.

"Be at ease, sir," Su replied, her honeyed voice gentle on the air. "Stretton and I have come to an accord, and I have given him my oath to do no harm."

Snape hissed. "But have you given it to _us_ as well?"

She blinked at her former professor – who had not been in on her secret while she'd been a student of his at Hogwarts, obviously - once, twice, and then slowly leaned her forearm out over the table in an offering. "I give my oath of no harm to any who asks it of me and is true."

That seemed to be good enough for Snape. He nodded. "I accept your oath, Vampire," he stated, staring her in the eye with a dead calm. "But should you prove false, I will stake you for the sun and the vultures."

Hermione was insulted for the woman who had done much for their cause – giving herself up time and again to brutal men just to get the intelligence they needed. She was about to take Severus to task for his rudeness when Su replied to his threat with equal venom. "And should you prove to be false to me, sir, I will strip your skin from your bones."

Everyone seemed appalled by the exchange, not sure whether to take exception or be warily alert for sudden violence. Everyone, that was except Snape, who simply smirked. "Agreed, Miss Li."

There was a requisite pause, and then Blaise cleared his throat. "Well, now that's out of the way, there's more." He turned his deference to the opposite end of the table again, his dark chocolate eyes locking with steel grey in silent communication.

Malfoy sat forward in his chair and folded his hands on the table before him. "Rickett's dead," he bluntly stated. "He was murdered by a spell none of us recognized."

Hermione frowned. "Blaise told me on the way in. What did the spell do exactly?"

"Mr. Rickett drown," Snape explained. "I examined the body myself. The spell caused every vein in his body to change from blood to water in seconds. He was then frozen with a second spell to keep him from crying out or moving around."

Su hissed and every eye turned to her. She looked to her former Madam. "An Unmentionable Curse," she explained and this made both Pansy and Hermione sit up, almost simultaneously. "I read it in The Madam's mind when I drained her."

"Shite, we've got a Tracker hidden amongst us then," Hermione deduced and Pansy nodded in agreement. "Hells bells."

"Wanna clue us in?" Blaise requested, politely concerned. "What's an Unmentionable Curse and what's a Tracker?"

Hermione turned the floor over to the dark-haired witch on her left. "You explain it," she charged Pansy, who proceeded to explain everything she knew about the Unmentionable Curses and the elite force that Lord Mort had put together just six months ago. Su filled in a few more of the curses that Pansy did not know from the memories she'd pulled out of Phaedra's head, including _Desino_ (which caused a person to freeze in place until they suffocated and died within minutes), _Saecula Saeculorum_ (a spell that caused a person to age forward through all the stages of their physical life within hours, until at last they died of old age), and _Acqua Morte_ (which was the spell responsible for Anthony Rickett's demise).

"That's five," Clearwater pointed out. "Didn't you say there were seven curses?"

Su nodded. "The Madam did not know the final two, because she had never seen them performed. The others, she had seen firsthand when her lover, the handsome, blond man, executed them on various bad clients."

Hermione swallowed, her heart suddenly leaping into her throat at the mention of Cormac McLaggen. All afternoon and evening, as they'd jumped around using the portkeys, she'd tried not to think of him and what he'd done to her... Had it just been earlier that day? But now that she was safely at home, and there was no where left to run and no duties pressing her to ignore her pain for a short while, she was forced to face it.

"_You belong to me. You see, Granger? You're mine. You've always been mine."_

Her hands began shaking violently, and she sloshed her coffee all over the table before putting the ceramic mug down. She must have done so with a loud thunk, because suddenly all eyes were on her… and it was too much. Too suffocatingly much. "I'm… really tired," she lied, and was surprised by how small her voice sounded. "I… I want to go to sleep now."

Everyone seemed somewhat shocked and confused by her abrupt desire to end the meeting so soon, probably thinking her behavior queer. She suddenly couldn't face any of them, especially _him_.

On unsteady legs, she stood quickly. "I'm… sorry. I'm just really tired." She headed for the exit. "Good night," she called back over her shoulder without looking back, moving swiftly across the compound, struggling to hold back her tears and failing miserably. When she arrived, Hermione waved her wand before her tent, and sealed it shut after. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of breaking down fully. Wrapping her arms about her middle, sobbing, she rocked back and forth, her heart in agony.

He'd raped her. Merlin, Christos, Circe, Godric, he'd raped her _again_! He'd stuck his penis into her and fucked her, and she'd been forced to moan and enjoy it. And he'd accomplished that by turning magic on her. The one shelter that made her feel safe in this frenetic world, and he'd used it against her! She felt betrayed by the thing she held most dear. Just like the first time. "_Oh, gods…_" she whimpered, wanting to scream, restraining herself only by the thinnest synapse of control.

Dirty, muddy, Mudblood. That's what the Pureblood McLaggen had called her the first time he'd taken her. And now she felt like it for sure. She waved her wand over herself, trying to _Scougify_ her body and soul. No matter the cleanliness of her clothes and hair, though, it didn't erase the memory of Cor's touch. Phantom burning hands caressed her skin… She needed to be clean again. She needed to find something pure, unspoiled to immerse herself in until she was drowning in rightness again.

Water. There was enough nearby to do the job. If she was quiet, she could even hear it from here, pounding away against the rocks and the sand out back…

Scrambling to her feet, her mind whirling, Hermione rushed back out of her tent for the beach in an irrational panic, seeking to escape a pair of golden-honey eyes and the feel of hot, desperate breath on the nape of her neck.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Everyone was silent after Granger left, the palpable feeling that something was _terribly wrong_ creeping through the very air. Cold tendrils of unspoken emotion weaved about the space creating a distressing, foreboding mood. Theo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unsure as to whether he should speak the truth or not. He looked at each face carefully, cataloguing every nuance in seconds, and made his decision. "I'm sure she'll be very angry with me for telling you, but… you're her friends, and I think… you should know." He took a deep breath and exhaled, his voice dropping low, a sadness creeping in. "The Death Eater McLaggen, he Imperius'd her, and…," he cleared his throat, face scarlet, looking down at his lap. "He… forced himself on her… this afternoon."

Pansy gasped, her eyes wide with horror, hands flying to her mouth in surprise. "Slytherin's soul, she said nothing!"

Everyone else was in shock, unsure how to react. The tent was utterly silent and still in the aftermath of such devastating news.

A bursting, raging backlash of power suddenly filled the air with the choking, cloying scent of burning cinders. Ceramic plates and cups on the table shook, raised up several centimeters, free floating in the air, then exploded outwards. Everyone cringed back, expecting to be hit with shards of razor-sharp material, but instead, the stoneware was pulverized into sooty dust, powdered into ash and charcoal-colored snow. The ground began to shake with anger, causing the tent to sway dangerously.

Zabini jumped to his feet, hand out to balance himself against the table, trying to keep upright as the earth growled. "_Draco, STOP! _You'll hurt us!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

In a heartbeat, the quake ended. Malfoy was on his feet and in a few long-legged strides, he left the tent, taking his cold, black diamond aura with him, his face a mask of wroth. Theo had never sensed a spirit so powerful, so dark or so furious. He was taken aback that his old friend had such hidden strength; he hadn't suspected such a thing, honestly. He traded a look with Severus across the table, and in those seconds, he realized that his old Potions professor hadn't realized Drake's true abilities either.

He was also shocked to realize that his childhood friend had feelings for Hermione Granger. That was something he hadn't expected at all… and it definitely changed things.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Murder. He wanted McLaggen's still-beating heart in his fist. He wanted to look in that rotted Death Eater's pretty-boy eyes as he ripped his soul to pieces. He'd hurt Hermione. He'd taken from her _again_. Draco had failed her. Failed to protect her, as he'd vowed he'd do after that first time. Why had he let her go off to Phaedra's alone? _He_ should have gone. He should have _insisted_ she stayed where she belonged and let him handle it. This was his fault, too.

Guilt, remorse, regret.

His feet moved, his mind rioted, and his powers lashed out, seeking a target for mayhem. Draco wanted to bathe in blood tonight.

A blur off to the right; someone running. Granger. She was crying.

Instinct took over. His heart sped up, his breath exploded from his chest, and his legs chased her. He nearly stumbled when his booted feet hit the sand, slowing him down. But there was no need to hurry anymore - she was right there, in front of him, on her knees now in the icy spray of the ocean, splashing her chest and scrubbing her arms. Her loud sobs slashed the air, rent his heart.

Draco fell to his knees behind her, grabbed her around the waist and cradled her back against his chest, wrapping his black winter, woolen cloak about them both. He ducked his head into the crook of her neck and held on to her tightly, crucifying himself on her heaving wails of despair. There were no words. He couldn't choke back his own self-loathing and his overshadowing hatred for Cormac McLaggen enough to find the right things to say to comfort her. It was just like before. He was ineffectual, useless. All he could do was offer her everything he had – his strength, his desire to protect her, and a promise of vengeance.

As he held the woman he loved to him, rocking gently, Draco shielded Hermione as best he could from the world, knowing it wouldn't be near enough to keep her pain at bay.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

"**Annyeonghaseyo" - Korean for 'Hello, it is nice to meet you.' (formal address).**

**In England, 'biscuits' are what Americans call 'cookies.'**


	16. Ch 15: Why Can't We?

**Chapter Fifteen: **_**Why Can't We…?**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Thursday, September 7, 2000 (Morning to Mid-Afternoon)**

The first thing Blaise did that morning was seek out Jeremy Stretton and Willem Bradley. At eight o'clock on the dot, he found the tall blond easily in the main tent, sitting down for breakfast. With a sharp whistle between his teeth to catch his attention, he gestured for Willem to join him outside. "Any idea where your pal is today?" he asked. There was no need to ask whom he was referring to.

The other man gritted his jaw and looked away. "I have no idea where he is," he replied hard. "I'm not his keeper."

Blaise was in no mood for the guff. "Then we're going to find him," he explained firmly and turned on his heel, heading for the outskirts of camp. Perhaps Clearwater had put Stretton on morning watch today.

They got half the way out of camp before Will's hand fell on his shoulder. "Not that way," he muttered, jerking his chin towards the beach instead. "He's over there." Seeing the questioning glance, Will tsk'd. "I can feel him in my head," he explained, tapping a finger to his temple.

Interesting. Blaise filed that little nugget of information away and they walked side by side towards the beach.

They found Stretton sitting high up on a dune, looking out over the vast expanse of the cerulean horizon. As if sensing their approach, he stood smoothly and quickly, spinning about before they even hit the sand line. Stretton's emerald gaze automatically tracked Will's movements. "Time for a little talk," he informed their scout as they approached, stopping more than a meter back to keep the two lovebirds apart. Clearly, Bradley had still not forgiven Jeremy for making him his servant.

"Mate," Jeremy corrected him, reading his mind easily, swinging those piercing orbs onto Blaise. "He's my mate, not my servant."

"Same thing," Will bit back acidly, folding his arms protectively over his chest and refusing to look Stretton in the eye.

"It is _not_," Jeremy countered angrily, turning his attention back to his lover. The man's fists were clenched tightly at his side and his shoulders and arms were bunched, Blaise noted. Stretton was carrying a lot of tension over their rift, clearly. "If you were my servant, I could force you to my side."

"You'd certainly _try_," Willem debated challengingly, now locking eyes with his boyfriend.

Running a big hand over his closely-shaved skull, Blaise shook his head. "Look, I don't care if you two are fucking or sharing bon-bons. What I care about is that you never said anything, Stretton. You're a goddamned Vampire and you never said a word. You've put us all at risk."

Jeremy's attention was finally drawn from Bradley, and he turned piercing green eyes on Blaise again. "At risk? I've kept you _safe_ for almost two years!" he reminded the tall former Slytherin. "I've run myself to the bone, and used these cursed gifts of mine to hunt and kill for you. And not once in all that time have I ever hurt any of you."

Will snorted. "That's debatable."

For a second, pain flashed through Jeremy's eyes as he glanced back at Will, then he firmed up again and looked back at Blaise. "In two years, I've never taken blood from any of you except him," he jerked his chin at Will. "And only once, to create our bond. I've found what I needed to survive elsewhere - sometimes from places that disgusted me - all so I'd never have to hurt anyone of our group." He squatted down on his ankles, looking like a predatory animal considering fight-or-flight, running one hand absently through the sand before him, picking up a handful of granules and letting it slide out from between his closed fingers over and over again as he talked. "I've never questioned any of our people about their individual backgrounds, even though I know some took the Dark Mark, and others had family who did." He said it casually, but Blaise knew he was referring to him and Malfoy, specifically. "I've trusted each person in our circle with my life, Zabini, just as much as you all have trusted me with yours. And I think I've proven my loyalty enough not to have to answer any questions about my heritage unless I want to." He glanced at Will again with narrowed eyes.

From his peripherals, Blaise saw Will's arms drop and his face become furiously belligerent. "You lied to _everyone_, Jeremy," he accused angrily. "And you're still lying now! You haven't even told him the rest of what you can do yet."

"Told me the rest of what, exactly?" Blaise asked, feeling ire building in his chest. Known for being the thoughtful, rational one in general, Blaise Zabini was occasionally known to have a bit of a temper. It wasn't frequent, but when it happened, he could prove to be a right, vindictive bastard. Just hearing that Stretton was keeping other secrets from him that he hadn't been able to divulge with Legilimency was enough to boil his blood. It meant Stretton was far more dangerous than he'd ever given the guy credit for, because he could hide his mind away too well.

There was a definite stare-off contest between Will and Jeremy, apparently about whether or not to reveal the rest of Stretton's hidden talents. It went on for more seconds than Blaise had patience for, however. "One of you had better talk, or I'm liable to forget that I'm a nice guy," he threatened in a calm, deep vibrato that made its point.

"Fuck you," Jeremy suddenly swore at Will in a venomously pained voice. He threw a handful of beige particles down angrily, gripping the area over his heart tightly with his freed hand at the same time, his face scrunching up as if he were physically wounded. "Fuck you for all of it." With that, he shifted. Between one second and the next, a large, black leopard was sitting where Jeremy Stretton had been kneeling, and Blaise understood. The big cat hunched down on all fours, its belly pressed to the hot sand, panting, staring at Willem with unblinking green eyes.

"Animagus," Blaise whistled between his teeth. He shook his head in amazement. "'Cat-like' we all called you - _no shit_." He narrowed his eyes in serious consideration, his mind whirling over potential uses for this new form in future operations planning. "Now this you didn't need to keep from me, Stretton. This could be very helpful indeed. I could give a fuck that you flew under the radar and never registered before the war. That's actually to our benefit this time." He felt a small hope bloom in his chest. If they could pull this off… "Can you teach anyone else?"

The cat shifted back, melting into Jeremy's fully clothed form. He pushed himself up off the sand with his corded, muscular arms, moving with the same grace as his feline other side. "I can show you the magic, but the talent has to be there to begin with," he explained. "I have no idea what everyone else is capable of in this way. Some people can't even do it. I'd have to test us all."

Blaise raised an interested eyebrow at him. "Can you? If some of us could change into Animagus, it would solve the Transfiguration problem Malfoy encountered on his trip to Romania by staying in wolf form for too long. We could use a group of Animagi to set up a new spy network, possibly. No Death Eater would look twice at a mangy dog hovering near a trash can, or a songbird in a tree. And we're going to need something now that Pansy's cell is compromised."

Jeremy tilted his head in consideration. "You saying you trust me still? Or am I just too valuable to you now to cut loose?"

He couldn't help the wicked smirk that crawled up the side of his face. The facial expression had been bred into him being a member of Slytherin House. "A little of both, Stretton. Just like everyone else." He whipped his wand out and twirled it over his hand, catching it with practiced ease. "Was that the extent of your secrets, or should I worry about anything else?"

Will barked a cruel laugh. "Isn't it enough to know we've got a blood sucker living with us?"

"Two, actually," a beautiful feminine voice informed them from behind. Blaise and Bradley whirled, wands at the ready, only to find Su Li standing behind them, hands at her sides, eyes calmly watching them all. The Vampiress lingered longest on Jeremy, Blaise noted.

Bradley sniffed in disdain and shook his head. "Whatever." He turned to Blaise, belligerent. "We through here?"

"Sure," Blaise informed him evenly. Just as Will was stalking past the interloping female, carefully weaving a wide arc away from her at the same time, Blaise stopped him with a final request. "Cool it, Will. You're disturbing my people with this attitude of yours. Stay away from him if you have to, but control yourself."

Will said nothing; just kept moving at a fast pace, obviously wanting to get away from Jeremy Stretton. Blaise turned his gaze on Jeremy next. "And you - quit antagonizing him. Whatever it is between you two, it's lowering morale from the group. Avoid him if you must, but don't let this leak all over the rest of us." He sighed a deep exhalation of breath, feeling years older than his short two decades. "Come to the main tent this afternoon for lunch so we can set-up a schedule of testing Animagus abilities for the others."

With that, he turned about and let his long legs take him off towards his next destination: Snape's tent. He needed to ask for those potions, like he'd promised a while back. His cough was worsening, and his lungs felt like Swiss cheese. There was also a lot of damage control to handle today as well, including the fallout from last night's misunderstanding involving Viktor Krum. And the Captain… Blaise's heart constricted in pain for what Granger had endured again. And he felt for his best friend, too, who he knew was probably bleeding himself with guilt over the whole thing.

Maybe he'd go see Drake later, offer him a drink or four. Gods knew they could both use it.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

"I thought I told you to stay away from me," Jeremy growled at the Vampiress once they were alone, eyeing her carefully for any sudden moves. The violent, irrationally uncontrollable anger he'd felt yesterday had melted away after her little ritual vow, so that now all he felt was weariness and suspicion.

Delicately small shoulders shrugged. "Technically, you told me to stay away from what was yours – your mate," she countered. "You never said anything about staying away from _you_."

Jeremy flowed up into his full height and sneered at her. "Well, then I'm saying it now…" he began, but was cut off suddenly by the Vampiress gliding closer to him. She moved so quickly and smoothly, with a grace that bordered on flawlessly beautiful, that in a blink, she had crossed the sand line and now stood a meter or so away. It was the fastest Jeremy had ever seen someone move without obvious magic. How had she accomplished it?

"Please do not finish that sentence," she requested, looking up at him. "And please hear me out. I have… a business proposal for you."

What the fuck? "Lady, you can't _possibly_ have anything I want," he mocked in disbelief.

A tilt of her head caused her long, midnight blue-black hair to swish gently off her shoulder. Her wide, dark eyes revealed a completely open, solicitous demeanor. It was almost too innocent to be believable – especially from one of their kind. His mother had told him to beware of others like them; she'd warned him that Vampires were dangerous and never to be trusted. Jeremy narrowed his eyes, tensing his body for action, just in case. Su continued to watch him for several long, silent moments before replying to his challenge. "I beg to differ. We are alike, you and I, Jeremy," she told him, her voice sultry and low. "For all we know, we may be the last two of our kind. The Dark Lord has been slaughtering our kindred, using his pet werewolves as assassins since his rebirth. I have certainly not met another Vampire since the war began until you, and you are not of the same clan as I. This presents us with a unique opportunity to learn from each other, don't you think?"

As she'd talked, he'd felt her gently caressing his aura, not so much pressing as feeling it out, learning it. He shoved her back magically and not kindly. She actually flinched. "Keep that up and I'll kill you where you stand," he threatened, that low growl emanating from his chest again.

The pressure fell away completely and she bent her head in supplication. "My apologies, but you have prevented me from completing the knowing between us since yesterday. I was only hoping… with the oath given, that you would understand."

Jeremy didn't understand. His mother had never prepared him for this scenario other than to warn him away from it whenever possible. And she'd been a young Vampiress herself, not on any sort of terms with her Maker. He often wondered how she'd accumulated any knowledge about what she was and what she could do. Perhaps another Vampire had been good enough to teach her, or she'd done her own reading on the subject? He couldn't rightly say. In either case, he had no idea what Su Li was talking about now. "Apparently not, so why don't you explain it to me," he drawled, carefully monitoring her every move, cataloguing every nuance.

She stared at him for a bit, blinking fiercely when the sun temporarily peeked out from behind grey autumnal clouds. So, she wasn't as immune to the daylight as he was. It seemed to affect her vision, for she looked down almost automatically, letting her hair slide over and hide her face in a move that looked well practiced and perfected. "Can we sit to talk?" she asked. "I admit that I am… weaker… in the sun than you, and my legs are rather shaky right now."

It was true, he noticed. Her knees were knocking together, and she suddenly looked like she was going to stumble. But was it all an act? Warily, he nodded. "Sure," he offered cautiously. "But you sit right where you are. Nice and slow now." He had his wand in his hand, although he had a feeling that if it came to it, it would be Vampire strength – not wizard's power - that they would both rely on to take down the other. He waited until she complied and had her legs tucked up under her, sitting sideways in a very feminine pose, before he sat on his haunches – a position that allowed him to get up and move fast, if need be.

"May I conjure a lean-to?" she requested, squinting still, placing a hand up the shade her eyes. "The glare - it hurts." She showed him her wand. "I promise no harm."

Jeremy paused, watching her as she paused for his agreement. He was testing her sincerity by making her wait, looking to see what the sun was doing to her. Her pale, creamy arm and hand were turning pink. She visibly flinched now. "Please," she practically begged. "I swear to you no harm."

With a wave of his wand, he conjured what she asked for, screening her effectively with a three-quarters side canvas shelter. The wind billowed through it, but it held magically about her, keeping her protected from the harmful rays of day. "Thank you," she appreciated with a hesitant smile. "That was… becoming difficult to bear."

Jeremy had always loved the sun. He tanned nicely, but never burned under its rays. He wondered why Su wouldn't have the same benefits, as she was half-Vampire as well. "Because I am an Eastern Vampire," she explained, picking the thoughts out of his head easily. "There are differences between the clans."

Growling, Jeremy shifted his body weight to sit taller. "Don't do that," he warned. "Stay out of my thoughts."

Su blinked, folding her hands in her lap demurely. "As you wish. Although, it would make it easier to talk to each other. More efficient."

He sniffed, scenting the air, picking up a fragrance that blew strongly through the trapped tent and was carried in his direction by the wind. It was an alluring combination of sandalwood and patchouli, with some sweet flower-clean water smell underlying all of it… His body suddenly tightened and flushed with desire unexpectedly and his cock woke up in his pants with throbbing pain as blood pooled between his legs in a rush.

Whoa.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jeremy's anger roared to the surface. The bitch was using Vampire magic on him, something he'd never encountered before! In a flash, he was on her, pinning her to the sand with one arm, his other at her throat, his teeth bared in a snarl. He felt his canines punch through his gums painfully once more, elongating for a fight. "Using Vamp wiles on me is a no-go, slag," he snarled in her face.

Su looked terrified, blinking up at him with tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I did not do anything magical, _I swear_ _to you_," she defended herself. "Read my thoughts, you will see the truth." She forced her muscles to relax under him, despite her quaking, adrenaline-pumped body. "I promise you, Jeremy. I would not ruin this chance. Read my mind and know."

Dare he trust this wasn't just part of the game? He placed his fangs next to her throat, right over her pulse and held them there. "If you so much as twitch, I'll drain you," he promised darkly and closed his eyes to enter her thoughts. What he found there surprised him.

She'd spoken true: the desire was a natural response, not magically induced. He'd reacted to her scent – some sort of rare lotus blossom oil that she dabbed onto her pulse points. She'd worn it for him, in fact, so he would think her interesting, perhaps even pretty. He fascinated her; had since their school days, it turned out.

He went further back through her memories, invading her privacy with a ruthlessness that wasn't gentle or kind in the least.

During his Third Year, she'd been sorted into his House when she'd come back to Hogwarts as part of the Ministry's attempt to hide her identity (she'd jumped around between Muggle schools and other Wizarding academies over the years, having already attended Hogwarts under two previous aliases – complete with glamour charmed features - in the past). She hadn't recognized him at first, but the day he went through the change, his scent had altered and she'd picked up on what he was then (she couldn't tell if he was half-Vampire or quarter or perhaps even less, but she knew he was not full blood, for he could walk around in the sun). To Jeremy's surprise, it had been her blood that had helped him to get through his transition (she'd already been requested by Dumbledore to cloak her presence from him completely, but this did not prevent her from offering up her precious life fluid to Jeremy willingly). Doing so had the poor side-effect of leaving her weakened and somewhat ill by the end of those initial few weeks, and she'd had to go to St. Mungo's for a transfusion when all had been said and done. And yet, after that, she'd begun watching Jeremy closely, feeling a certain one-sided kinship with him. She looked for him in the corridors and in the common room and in the dining hall, attended his Quidditch games, and at the Yule Ball, she'd stood in the wings, watching him dance with someone else, wishing just once for a chance to talk to him. She'd been alone for almost thirty years at that point, and to be around another of her kind unexpectedly had proved a huge temptation. She wanted to know all about him, and perhaps share her knowledge of her own kind with him (her clan were now extinct, after the massacre on Jeju Island, he learned). She'd been forbidden to interact with him on any level, however, so all she could do was watch from a distance, and wish for more. At the end of her Fifth Year (his Seventh), she'd whispered an unheard "goodbye" to him while standing right next to him on the Hogsmeade platform, while he loaded his trunk up onto the train. He'd just graduated and was going home. She'd hoped someday to see him again. But then the war started two years later…

Jeremy pulled his mind out of her memories and leaned away, staring down at the Vampiress under him with confusion. Slowly, he backed off, sitting on his arse in the sand at her side, unsure as to what to say or do now. This was completely unexpected. Everything he'd been told by his mother was not to trust another of his kind. Now, he was uncertain.

With obvious embarrassment, and a bit of soreness (he'd shoved her rather roughly down), she sat up and scooted away from him. "I only wanted to get to know you better. Because we're alike, you see?" She wiped hot salt tracks from her cheeks. Regret and disappointment poured off her in waves, radiating across her aura.

Jeremy blinked, feeling like the biggest fuckwad around. He'd hurt Su, hadn't he? And yet he owed her everything; she'd helped him get through his transition, and he'd never even known. That had been a very painful and scary time in his life. Without her blood – as repulsive to drink as it had been, as it had turned cold sitting in the vials for so long, and the whole idea of drinking blood had disgusted him so thoroughly at first - he'd have probably gone mad and would have had to have been put down by the Ministry without it. And today… well, she hadn't intended on coming on so strong, he saw that now. But for her, their acquaintance had been years in the hoping and waiting – similar to how his had been with Will.

They _were_ more alike than he'd realized.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking down at his hands, ashamed. "I was told never to trust another Vampire," he offered. "And I never even knew you were there back in school."

Su sniffed and smiled sadly, looking out over the white-cresting waves, tucking some of her windswept hair back behind her ear. "That was the idea." She sighed and stood, brushing the sand off her clothes. "It is done. And you have your mate already. I am sorry I ever bothered you."

She started to leave and something in Jeremy forced him to move. He wasn't even conscious of doing so until he was standing right in front of her. "You said you had a business proposal. For us to learn from each other," he offered. "I'd like to know more about Eastern Vampires." With great hesitancy, he held his hand out to shake. "I accept."

Su looked down at his calloused, big hand and then up into his eyes. With a tentative smile, she lifted her own hand and they connected. Neither let go right away, continuing to gauge each other in those moments, deciding.

"Can we start now?" he asked, finally letting her go. "I don't have patrol until tonight."

With seamless fluidity, Su sat back down under the protective tent and patted the sand across from her. "Now would be fine."

Jeremy joined her, and to his great surprise, he found that within an hour, he had not only learned more than he thought possible about his kindred, but that he genuinely found Su to be a likeable monster.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Hermione awoke with salt crusted eyes and a throbbing headache. Her throat hurt, her nose was stuffy, and she felt hung-over. She was also, she realized, back in her tent, in her cot, fully dressed in yesterday's clothes, and alone. How…?

Malfoy.

It all came crashing over her again in waves of heated embarrassment, shame, sadness.

He knew. He'd come to her and held her tight to him while she'd cried hysterically, half maddened by her inner demons. After she'd quieted, he'd picked her up easily in his powerful arms and brought her back here, carrying her in a tender, protective manner, cradling her face into his chest all the way up from the beach. She remembered him setting her on her feet, casting a drying spell on them both, and then laying her back in her bunk, his low, soothing voice placed next to her ear as he followed her down to her pillow: _"I'm here, Granger. You're safe."_ It was the gentlest he'd ever spoken to her in all their years acquaintance.

All she'd been able to say to him in return, in between her pathetic hiccupping-sobbing was, "I'm sorry." She'd repeated the mantra tiredly at least half a dozen times before he'd shushed her, promising to keep her safe from now on. He'd tucked her in then, and stayed by her side until she'd fallen asleep, running his fingers whisper soft over her face to lull her into the numbing dark.

She loved him _so much_. Was it possible that he felt the same back? Fay had thought so. Astoria had even said she'd seen it. Last night, he seemed very loving - not at all like the characteristic Malfoy she'd known for so long, but someone fiercely protective and sweet. And then there was the almost-kiss they'd shared in the tent before Pucey had interrupted… Could it be possible? What if it were? She'd resolved that she was going to let him know her feelings when she'd returned to camp (she'd even seriously considered slipping into his bed uninvited one night), but now… Was everything ruined? Could she suffer to look Malfoy in the eye now that he knew that McLaggen had… that he'd…. _touched_ _her_… again? She swallowed back a fresh round of tears. She still felt so filthy. She was ashamed, even knowing it wasn't her fault.

How had Malfoy found out anyway?

There was only one rational possibility: Theodore must have explained to the others the reason for her sudden departure from the main tent last night. That meant that Blaise, Pansy, Su, Snape and Malfoy all knew.

She was angry with Nott for betraying her trust, but after long minutes of thought, she understood that this secret was not one that could be kept (just as Malfoy's indiscretion with Astoria could not be), as now Cormac would most certainly be after all of them, not just her. McLaggen would want revenge for being maimed and humiliated, surely. Everyone was in danger worse now because of her.

Wearily, she sat up, wiping the ick from her eyes and her nose. Where was her wand? She silently _Accio_'d it to her hand; the smooth, familiar feel of the magic contained within the Vinewood calmed her anxiety immediately, made her feel marginally powerful again.

She emptied out her Bag of Holding of the things that could fit in her tent, and remembered the clawfoot bathtub. Withdrawing it now, she set it up and filled it easily with steaming water with an efficient _Aquamenti_. She'd fished some bath supplies from Phaedra's personal collection, and now went through them, choosing a lightly scented raspberry soap and a bottle of mint shampoo to wash up with. Stripping her clothes off, she climbed in, scrubbed down every inch of her body with the soap twice, lathered her hair and rinsed, then relaxed back in the sudsy water and enjoyed being clean finally. The feel of the cooler air tickled her nipples.

The flaps of her tent opened without warning and Viktor Krum strode in, angry. As soon as they saw each other, they froze, both of their eyes widening in surprise (his stare dipped to her breasts, which were peaking up above the water line). Immediately, Viktor turned his back and sputtered an apology, but she noted that he didn't leave. Hermione reached for her wand quickly and conjured a towel, climbing out of the tub and drying off. "Keep your back turned, please," she requested as she reached for some clean clothing to change into.

As soon as she was decent again, she bent to tie her boot laces, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to look into Viktor's face directly after their confrontation last night. She should apologize. "I'm _so_ sorry, Viktor," she hesitantly began. "What I did to you last night was wrong."

He didn't say anything at first, then he sighed heavily and his massive shoulders slumped. "It is no matter, Mii-o-nee. You could not know. I could not say. It vas secret."

She used her wand to comb and dry her hair with a simple vanity charm, and put the curly mess up into a ponytail. "You can look now," she told him, still unsure of the wisdom of this confrontation at this moment. She was feeling very emotionally vulnerable right now.

Viktor turned around and his dark eyes were filled with sincere trepidation as well. For long minutes, neither said anything, simply staring across the space at each other, discomforted by the awkwardness. "You should have told me," she whispered, staring at his frowning mouth. "Secret or not, I needed to know something that important."

He licked his lips nervously. "Yes, you are right, of course."

"Do you have any more secrets that I should know about?" she asked, feeling a gulf open up between them; leadership had its price, after all. Sadness clenched her heart. This was Viktor Krum, the first man she'd given her kisses (and a little more) to. She _wanted_ to trust him.

Her ex-boyfriend hesitated, and she knew what that meant: yes, he did have other secrets, and no, he wasn't going to tell them to her. "I cannot speak, Mii-o-nee."

Frustrated, she sighed, putting a hand over her eyes and rubbing. "Will your secrets hurt us all in the end, Viktor? Will they jeopardize this group? I _need_ to know. This isn't a game." He was quiet again. She dropped her hand and looked at him, profoundly hurt with his inability to share with her something this important.

"I cannot speak," he explained, his face desperate, running a meaty hand over his half-shaven head in frustration.

Her eyebrows dropped in concern. "Are you saying you're bound by an oath not to reveal what you know?"

Viktor began pacing like a caged lion in a very confined space. "I cannot speak," he repeated. He put two hands over his mouth as if in pantomime.

It all made sense suddenly. "You can't even tell me that you're gagged by the secret. That was part of the oath, too, wasn't it?"

Something in Viktor's eyes seemed relieved. "I cannot speak."

She sighed and nodded. "I understand. I'm betting you can't even mention names of co-conspirators, can you?" He said nothing, frowning. That was answer enough. "I can't completely trust you, can I?" she wondered aloud.

Viktor looked sad. "I vant you to. I vant you to… care for me again. Like before. I never forget you. Never, _milla_. I think of you every day." He took two steps towards her, and she automatically moved back several steps, her body reacting without conscious thought. His eyes widened in confusion, then narrowed in hurt. "You do not trust to touch?"

Hermione swallowed, looked at the floor, unable to stand seeing his reaction to what she was about to say. "Viktor, I have your answer." Her heartbeat was heavy in her throat. It was suddenly hard to breathe. She clenched her fists at her side. "I… can't be with you." Blasted tears sprang from her eyes, dripped down her cheeks unheeded. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

Deadly silence reigned for a good, long minute. "Vhat happened, Mii-o-nee? Tell me." His voice was icy calm, but she could feel his suspicious anger stirring underneath. "You vere hurt, yes? I have heard it spoken."

She swallowed hard twice and nodded. Viktor knew her shameful secret, too? How? Words failed her. She couldn't find the courage for her voice.

"Who vas he? This Macu-Laggen?"

Never had she heard such vehemence. There was the promise of retribution in that tone. She shook her head. "Please, just don't." More tears. Her tongue tasted salt and the coppery acid of blood. She'd bitten her own lip. She shut her eyes, feeling her ribs constrict. "It doesn't matter. He's not the reason. I… I'm in love with someone else!"

She didn't even sense him move. Gentle fingers were abruptly caressing her cheeks, and she jerked back, her lids flying open at the same moment. She tried to move away, but her face was caged in a strong, firm grip. "_Milla_, I know you have love for your Malfoy. I had hope…" Here Viktor stopped and sighed, his dark eyes reflecting such sadness. "I vill let you go, because you ask it, my Mii-o-nee. But I vill never stop loving you." With that, he pressed his soft lips to hers, stealing the rest of her breath, leaving her dizzy. It was a kiss filled with sorrow, but with the solemn promise of an earnest and consistent fidelity. "_Običam te, Zhelaya te, Shte mi lipsvash_," he whispered to her, kissing her with honest passion in between each phrase. He pressed his forehead to hers for only a few heartbeats, biting his lip, his whole body trembling on the knife's edge of indecision, but then he let her go and strode quickly from her tent without looking back.

Hermione felt the hollow ache of loss in her chest. Scorching tears splashed down her cheeks silently. It was over and done, at last. She'd finally let her first love go.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Theo watched Viktor Krum leave Granger's tent from the shadows of the temporary structure he shared with Blaise Zabini and with the dragon-tamer, Charlie Weasley (he had yet to meet the guy, actually). His eyes followed the former Tri-Wizard Champion as the big Bulgarian rushed through the camp, heading for the beach, tears openly running down his face. He looked like someone had just kicked his favorite dog too hard, killing it instantly. That look could only mean one thing: he'd been shot down in love. Theo had seen that look enough times in his life to know the sentiment. Apparently, Hermione was popular with more than just Drake in camp.

He glanced back to the opening of Granger's tent. Now would probably not be a good time to express his regret for spilling the details of her rape to the others, he supposed. She would probably be too emotionally drained between dealing with the aftermath of her physical assault, and with Krum's let-down. He could wait to speak to her later, when the timing was appropriate.

Speaking of perfect timing… Daphne Greengrass walked past just then with her little sister, Astoria. He'd only known the lovely, long-legged blonde was in the group when she's stood and announced herself at the table last night, as things had been too rushed and frantic for him to notice the other witches and wizards that had been around him until then. He looked at her now and marveled at the changes a few years had made. The shy girl he'd taken to the Yule Ball in their Fourth Year, who he'd deflowered of her virginity in Sixth Year, and who he'd given a regretful farewell kiss to after graduation had grown up into a _very_ fetching woman, he noted. He'd never seen her at The Madam's House, personally, and he was almost glad for it now, for he would have blown his cover to try helping her escape. Old feelings sometimes died hard.

Should he dare approach her again?

Feeling a strange optimism for the first time in… shit,_ years_… and letting a fool's impulse guide him for once, he hurried out of the tent and matched stride with his ex-girlfriend, easily striking up a conversation with her and her little sis. To his relief, Daphne seemed quite receptive to his presence. He walked her and Astoria to their shared tent so the baby bird could grab her cloak, and then they sauntered back to the main pavilion, where everyone not on patrol or busy doing personal things tended to hang out (or so he'd heard from Blaise last night, when they meeting had broken up and they'd sat up for a few more hours talking and sharing some Firewhiskey). Sitting at the long table put out for the refugees from The Madam's House, they began a game of wizard's chess, just like old times. When he checked her King, Daphne huffed in indignation and stuck her tongue out at him playfully, just as she had when they'd been kids. They'd shared a laugh at the familiarity of the moment.

Bang! Right then, as he looked across the board at his old flame, Theo decided that maybe _this_ was what Granger had been referring to the night they'd first met in Coventry, when she'd told him that he no longer needed to be a lone wolf, but could be a part of a family finally. Not with _her_, as he'd mistakenly believed, but with someone like Daphne Greengrass instead.

For the first time in a long time, Theo felt a smathering of radical, sunshine hope grab a hold of his heart with abandon… and he ran with the feeling, refusing to overthink this one.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Charlie entwined Fay's fingers with his and stretched them together up to the sky, palms reaching for the clouds. "You have the smallest hands," he marveled, running his fingers over her skin, causing her nipples to tighten up again. She felt his sexual aura caress hers slyly once more.

"And you have an insatiable libido," she joked, kissing him quickly on the cheek with a slight turn of her head.

They were still lying in the middle of the field in the exact spot where he'd first laid her down last night. After casting an area of effect bubble charm on them to keep out the elements, and a warming spell so they wouldn't freeze while lying on the tamped down grass, they'd made love so many times that Fay had finally exhausted herself out around one or two in the morning (she was guessing; she hadn't actually known the time). Her greedy lover had taken her again when they'd woken up around dawn, however, and they'd only just finished their third round since then as the sun was nearing mid-morning. Her body was deliciously sore, her aura so calmed and sated that she was sure she wouldn't need sex for the next year to satisfy that continual hunger for joining with another person that Sex-Witches experienced.

No, she only wanted Charlie now. And a year was too long to wait for their next coupling. Heck, an hour might be, if he kept touching her and stroking her magical energies up as he was currently doing. "I need to eat or I'll starve," she informed him with a teasing whine, hearing her tummy rumbling. "I feel very lightheaded this morning."

Instantly, he was on top of her, pressing his thick, hard length between her legs again, insisting on entry into her channel. "Me, too," he admitted, kissing her fiercely. "I think we've fucked ourselves silly."

His _grin_ was silly. She told him so.

He plunged into her kitty recklessly and she gasped in delight, her body stretching to take him in once more. "Not so silly anymore, am I?" he asked wickedly in a low hum against her ear.

Around her mewls of pleasure, Fay agreed – no, he _absolutely_ wasn't silly.

He moved in her slow at first, building them up quickly to a pace that had them panting and straining for orgasmic bliss in short minutes. Her legs were wrapped around his waist as she gasped and moaned, and he'd tilted her hips so he was now driving into her with pounding, almost ruthless action, similar to their first time together. His mouth was pressed to her neck, groaning his own pleasure against her throat. His long, red hair slid across her cheek, his rough, powerful hands gripped her hips tightly. His flesh was so very hot at every point they touched, and his lips seared her skin with every kiss. Gods, she loved him!

Her soul was bared to him now; he knew every secret in her heart and mind, as her shared aura had revealed everything to him – the good and bad. In the exact same way she knew him as well, her magic stripping away the layers of his self-doubt, comforting his fears, encouraging his strengths. Over the course of one night, she'd tasted his loneliness, embraced his sex, and been burned by the love he carried for her. He was _so beautiful_, inside and out.

"Marry me," he growled in her ear, their combined hearts so loud in her ears that she could almost sample their powerful rhythms in her mouth. "Be my wife, Fay."

Tears of joy flowed down her face. "Yes," she whispered in his ear just as she climaxed. "_Yes, Charlie!_"

He joined her a second behind and they came together, each whispering 'yes,' and 'I love you,' over and over. When their hearts slowed together in sync, their auras so entwined now that it was impossible to tell one from the other, and with their bodies still intimately connected, Charlie leaned over her and grinned again. "Tonight?" he asked with boyish enthusiasm, his aqua-blue gaze twinkling with mischief.

Fay matched his silly grin this time. "Tonight," she agreed. She pushed him off of her playfully and sat up. "Now can we go eat, for Merlin's sake?"

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The afternoon lunch was some sort of ocean fish in a light butter and caper sauce, wild rice and green beans (from the can, but that wasn't so bad a trade-off for the rest). He noted the absent faces immediately: Wood, Jones, Markham, Krum, Granger. The first three were on patrol. The other two... He felt a violent stab of jealousy in his heart. Were they together? He'd known Krum was persistently pursuing her. Had the Bulgarian jumped at the first opportunity to kiss and make up with her after last night's little falling out? He swallowed back disappointment. Gods, he _really_ fucking hoped not.

He traded a look with Blaise, and knew his friend had noted the empty chairs as well. Zabini was tactful enough not to let anything show on his face, though.

Pansy sauntered in almost at the last, throwing Draco a wink as she took a chair at the other table with her people. It seemed weird to think that Pansy had successfully run her own little resistance movement right under the noses of the enemy. His ex- had grown up into quite the strong, albeit scary woman. He admired her courage and cunning. He also noted the flirtatious wave she threw at him and the scowl she gave to Blaise, and he couldn't help the dry amusement he felt. The rivalry between the two Slytherins for the spot as Draco's favorite had been legendary in their House, and had been a game he'd silently encouraged to keep them both out of his hair during Sixth and Seventh Years.

His eyes moved down the other table.

Trading nods of deep respect with Theo Nott (who was sitting next to Daphne Greengrass - just like old times), he was pleased to see his childhood friend had made it to this point in one piece. That the guy was Snape's spy – _his son_ – was shocking, though. He wondered if Theo had ever made the connection, and was just staying silent about the knowledge? He certainly couldn't tell him outright, as he'd made Severus a promise.

Speaking of… Snape, he noted, intentionally avoided looking in Theo's direction. He was engaged in conversation with Cadwallader instead. He needed an update on that situation pronto. How many more days or weeks would Philip need before he was ready? Draco couldn't risk sending him out until he knew the identity of Mort's spy in their midst. A year ago, even two, he wouldn't have thought much about losing another face for the cause, but now… His ruthlessness had tamed to some degree. He blamed Granger for his humanity.

Granger…

His eyes trailed back towards her empty seat. He always, _eventually_ went looking for her. Where was she? He should go find her and make sure she was coming to lunch. She'd skipped breakfast, and he was worried for her health.

On the way back down the table, his eyes skimmed over honey-blonde hair... and the world came to a screeching halt. He'd been ignoring the persistent pull – a dull throb that started right behind his eyes - of Astoria since last night. Now, as his gaze locked onto the young woman's profile, that small ache bloomed into a ferocious pounding that pulsed in his head and chest. Feeling the bond between them flare into life unexpectedly, Astoria hissed in surprise and dropped her fork, looking up and over at him with wide, fearful green-grey orbs. He shuddered and turned his head, closing his eyes and trying to control the warm sensation that tingled through him, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose, so he wouldn't scent her. It took him twenty long seconds before he could control himself well enough to open his eyes and take a deep breath.

Shit. This was not good. Something had to be done about this situation immediately.

He turned to Blaise and signaled his friend to walk him out of the tent. The two matched strides through the main thoroughfare of the camp as Draco headed towards Granger's tent. "Set up another conference for later this afternoon," he informed his friend. "You, me, Granger, Snape, Pans, Theo, Weasley, Clearwater. Make it in my tent." He ran a hand through his long, shaggy hair. It was definitely time for another cut. "It's time to talk serious about that group leaving for America. And I want to know more about what went on in The Madam's House."

Blaise nodded. "Four o'clock?"

Draco nodded. "Fine."

He slowed as they neared Granger's tent, then stopped completely. Draco stared at the closed flaps with a small measure of trepidation. Blaise slapped him on the shoulder without warning. The guy's grin was positively dripping with cheese.

"Go get her mate."

With that, he turned on his heel and headed back, leaving Draco alone to gather his nerve.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

She'd been cataloguing the things she'd stolen from The Madam's House since she'd wiped away the last of her tears over Viktor Krum earlier… No, truth be told, she was hiding out like a coward. She was afraid to go out and face the others and had shammed this little inventory game to keep her occupied in her tent. Viktor had said he'd overheard people talking about her rape. There was a good bet that what had happened to her at McLaggen's hands was now the camp gossip. She felt positively ill at the thought.

Worse, she was cowering from _him_.

"Granger, you there?"

She froze, literally. Every muscle in her body felt as though she'd been hit with a petrify spell. In the next instant, everything sped up insanely. Her heart started racing, her breathing picked up, her mind whirled about dizzyingly.

"Granger?"

_Stand up and answer him_, that inner Gryffindor lioness roared in her head. _Courage!_

Clearing her throat, she turned towards her tent opening and waved her wand, unlacing the ties. "Yes," she invited Malfoy in, feeling sharks swimming around in her tummy. She patted her hair down once, very quickly, before his tall, dark clad bulk slid through the narrow opening, making the room suddenly hotter by degrees. Her eyes drank him in, her mind memorizing every curve and angle and shade of color for the hundredth time; from his full lips to his pale jaw, from the golden, arched eyebrows to the pink, slashing scar across his forehead. His hair was badly in need of a cut; he looked wolfish. But it was his eyes that captured her at the last. Those piercing steel orbs skewered her with intimate awareness.

It was too much. She looked down at his mud-crusted boots, finding it difficult to raise her head and look him in the eye again, despite her momentary rally of guts just a second ago. A silence stretched across one of the longest minutes of her life, thickening the air with a pungent awkwardness.

"Lunch is almost over," he told her, his voice soft and even.

In her hands, she nervously turned over a bottle of orange bath oil taken from The Madam's stash. The smooth glass rolled back and forth between her fingers. "Is it?" she asked, swallowing her anxiety hard. "I hadn't noticed the time. I was… busy."

No immediate response. She knew he wasn't buying the excuse. Would he yell at her, just as he had the first time they'd been in this predicament? At that time, she'd thought him an insensitive, evil git for hurting her by calling her names and taunting her after having been so brutalized by Cor, but she'd soon figured out that Malfoy was an expert at manipulating people's feelings to get them to do what they needed or what he wanted. He'd fought with her so she'd get angry and stop feeling like a victim, rediscover her courage and not be afraid anymore. And for all these long months, that same twisted psychology had worked; she'd relied upon her rage to get her up every morning and to keep them all – herself included – moving forward, marching on. But this time, it was different. When she'd looked into McLaggen's tear-filled eyes, she'd stopped being quite so furious. Something inside had broken down, and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to reclaim that whiplash, harsh edge.

"This isn't you," he said flatly, a touch of annoyance flaring around the edges of his words. "You're hiding."

She started trembling with emotional exhaustion. "I know. I can't… I'm…" Here she stopped, breathing heavily through her nose, feeling the weight of cold, arctic eyes slashing through her overheated skin, exposing her bloodied heart. "Don't look at me," she pleaded, closing her lids tight, hating that she'd become damaged goods. "It _hurts_."

He didn't respond; didn't so much as twitch. The air was so still. The glass jar in the palm of her hand was static. All of her nerves were stretched taut, waiting with a perverse sort of anticipation for violence to erupt. It came in the form of his magical energies crackling in maddened frustration on the edges of hers, causing her to flinch, but at the same time igniting sparks of desire deep in her womb. She wanted him - more than she had _ever_ wanted anything or anyone in her entire life. But she felt _so dirty_… dirty like the Mudblood he'd once called her. How could he possibly want her now, if he ever had?

Suffocated by his knowing stare and her anxieties, she threw the bottle in her hand against the ground, lashing out. "DON'T LOOK AT ME!" she screamed, sobbing, slapping hands over her eyes in humiliation, hating herself for being so weak.

In three strides, he had his arms about her, his cheek pressed against her temple, his mouth buzzing the shell of her left ear. "You are _never_ weak," he growled, seeming to pick her thoughts right out of her head. "I won't let you be."

He held her, letting her leach her poison out onto his chest, making no move other than to offer her the comfort of his physical presence once again. Outside the tent, as if in solidarity to her mood, it began to rain. When her own storm of embittered tears passed, he led her to her cot and lay them down together, turning her so she molded into his chest, holding her silently. Within minutes, her tired body fell into a light slumber in the warmth of Malfoy's arms, the soothing pattern of droplets hitting her tent roof and the lulling beat of his steady, strong heart calming her overly-fatigued mind. Here, for a little while, she could let herself believe she was safe.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Viktor had carefully considered his options after leaving Mii-o-nee's tent. There really didn't seem much reason to stay here anymore, and being near her would remind him every day of what he could never have. Seeing her with her Malfoy would only crush his heart worse.

Why had he not come for her after the war had started? He'd wanted to, but there had been his family to protect… But he'd failed them - especially Damyan.

So, now, there was only one choice remaining to him. Maybe he could save his younger brother if he went. And this way, he could also give one last thing to the woman he loved, too. He sought out Arcos and Istok to give them his answer.

When they were privately bespelled within their shared tent, he nodded. "Yah," he told them in Russian. "I will go with you."

Soren looked at him seriously behind a dark, circumspect gaze. "You know we will probably die, yes?"

Viktor nodded. "It is small matter. But I want to save Damyan. And I want _pebansh_ on the Death Eater Macu-Laggen." He stumbled over the name because of its foreign pronunciation, but it did not matter. None of them knew who this man was personally, as none of them had seen him before, but Viktor would find out. He would take the thought from Mii-o-nee's head, so he would know who to look for in The Fortress.

"Tomorrow night, then, yes?" Arcos asked them both, and there was an accord of nods. "Take what supplies you need in secret. We will talk more tonight."

The two Romanians left Viktor alone in the tent with his thoughts. He laid down on his temporary bunk, listening to the rain pour down from the heavens above. He would leave Mii-o-nee a goodbye note, so she wouldn't worry, and he hoped someday she would understand. He prayed for her happiness.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**- The massacre on Jeju Island was a real event in history. It was a terrible tragedy that should never be forgotten or repeated.**

**- Once more, here's the Bulgarian language translations:**

**Milla = Bulgarian for "honey" (in the sense of darling/sweetheart)**

**Običam te = Bulgarian for "I love you"**

**Zhelaya te = Bulgarian for "I want you"**

**Shte mi lipsvash = Bulgarian for "I will miss you"**

_**- Pebansh (in Cyrillic: Реванш**_**) = Russian for "revenge"**


	17. Ch 16: Misunderstandings & Insight

**Chapter Sixteen: **_**Misunderstandings and Insight**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Thursday, September 7, 2000 (Afternoon)**

Will was _angry_. He spent the rest of the morning working out in his tent, using the hand weights and skipping rope that he'd shrunk down and kept in his Bag of Holding to work himself into a dripping sweat by lunchtime.

How dare Blaise interfere in his relationship! If he wanted to be furious with his best friend, that was their business and no one else's. The guy hadn't walked in his shoes; he couldn't possibly understand how betrayed and used Willem felt. He had absolutely _no right_ to comment on how Will handled his one-time lover!

Yeah, okay, the idea of being tied to a Vampire frightened him because of his upbringing. Will had been told from a very young age by his mother and her church that blood-suckers (which to her fanatical sect of Christianity were real, although one had never been seen by any of them he was betting) were nothing less than the spawn of Satan himself. What Will had learned from his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes ironically seemed to jive with some of the things his mum preached: that Vampires were inherently selfish creatures that manipulated others using physical attraction and mind games. Despite their equal protection status under Ministry law, as they were classified as 'Beings,' the unspoken warning from the wizarding world was that Vamps were to be avoided whenever possible, and never trusted by any race.

And yet, even knowing that, Will thought that he could have learned, over time, to accept what his best friend was, and might have eventually accepted the mate bond - _if he'd been given a choice_. But he hadn't. He'd been tricked; forced against his will. That a similar violation had occurred in the past between them (made worse by the fact that it had been covered up and his memories tampered with), was a betrayal that cut deep. The trust he'd placed in Jeremy's hands had been not just been broken - it had been twisted and made ugly. It had been ruined. _That_ was really why he hadn't been able to forgive Jer.

Did his friend really love him? The way Will saw it, you didn't force someone you loved into doing something they didn't want. You didn't take away their options. You didn't steal their memories to hide your shameful acts against them. You gave them choices and let them decide on the course their life would take. What Jeremy had done to him was deceitful, ruthless and amoral, and he'd hurt Will's feelings _badly_ in the doing.

Despite his Christian values, he was finding that it was extremely difficult to forgive Jer for the dishonest handling of his body and heart. Every time he so much as looked at the guy, he fell into a well of fury… and lust… and sorrow. He was crushed by these feelings, which pulled him in all different directions, confusing and frustrating him. He found himself fervently wishing at times that he'd never let Jeremy kiss him.

Unfortunately, that desire was at odds with the love that simmered just under the surface of his heart for his best friend. The truth was, he wanted Jeremy in _all_ ways, _all_ the time – most especially laughing, smiling, or groaning in need under him. He worked, ate and drank, and slept and dreamed Jeremy Stretton, twenty-four/seven. To his dismay, he became irrationally, insanely jealous watching his lover talk to others – male or female, didn't matter which – or to touch them, even in a casual handshake or accidentally brush in passing. This morning, as he'd caught the Asian Vampiress eyeing his best friend something fierce, all he could think about was shoving her away, walking up to Jer and biting him on the throat, staking an open claim. His gums had positively ached to do as he'd imagined, and his shoulder blades had itched and stretched uncomfortably for some unfathomable reason. He was changing from this 'mating' thing, and not for the better, in his estimation. He felt more… _animal_… whenever he so much as glimpsed at his lover.

Had Jeremy's marking of him done this, or was this something else?

That spark in the corner of his soul flared to life all on its own every time his best friend was near, and a dark part of him recognized that it had been there for a long time, waiting. Maybe Jeremy had simply triggered it? He didn't know – didn't _understand._

Throwing down his rope, leaving it messily on the floor, Will lay down in his bunk. He shared this tent now with Viktor Krum, his two Romanian buddies, and two of his former housemates, Boot and Cornfoot. None of them were in at the moment, which was fine with him, as he wasn't up with being social just then. With a wave of his wand, he shut the curtains around his cot tightly (a new invention by Neville when he'd expanded the tents inside, reminiscent of the thick curtains his old bed at Hogwarts had modeled) and silenced the whole thing for privacy. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

_Jeremy._

Just thinking the name made things in Will's guts turn over.

Visions of this morning, when Will had watched his lover stretching, as he sat up after changing back into his human form once more, haunted him. The dark green thermal shirt Jer wore was tight fitted to his torso, and had showed off rippling, lean muscle hidden underneath the fabric. When he'd pushed into a sitting position again, moving with that cat-like combination of masculine strength and feminine grace, Will had flushed hot with wild lust. It had set his teeth on edge and given him an erection that painfully bulged against the front of his pants (thank Merlin for wizard cloaks – they hid anything). That's _really_ why he'd needed to get out of there so fast after Jeremy's little bend and stretch routine; he'd been afraid his lover or that exotic Vampiress behind him might smell his arousal, and he didn't want to be embarrassed any further.

Even reliving that moment now, Will had to give himself a mental shake; to forcibly remind again what Jeremy had done to him. He _shouldn't _want the lying, sneaky bastard anymore, simply on principal alone. Playing with fire after being so badly burned was moronically self-destructive and he knew it… Yet, none of those protests seem to do a damn to stop his little friend below from throbbing with desire in his shorts.

He shifted uncomfortably, refusing to ease his own pain. He hadn't wanked in almost a week, the last time being two days before he and Jer had… But he'd be damned if he did it with Stretton on his mind! He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, determined to nap before his watch later that evening, but sleep wouldn't come. All he could see behind his eyelids was Jeremy's angry expression from this morning. All he could hear was his accusatory voice...

_"He's my mate, not my servant."_

Mate. The word meant "friend."

Yeah, right. He and Jeremy weren't even that much anymore. He'd lost his best friend somewhere in the grass that night that he'd given up his innocence.

Hot tears unexpectedly fell down Will's cheeks, to drip into the crack of his mouth. The salty taste reminded him vaguely of Holy Water.

Why? Why couldn't he let Jeremy go? The guy was no good for him. He was a lying, silver-tongued deceiver sent to him to corrupt him. He was... he... _God, please help me,_ he silently prayed, trying to suppress his sobs into his pillow._ Help me to know what to do._

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Adrian got the news from Blaise after lunch that Charlie and Fay had finally returned to camp, and announced their wedding would be that night. Immediately, Adrian's mind went into overdrive planning. A feast and a special cake were necessary to celebrate the event, most definitely! Fay and he were very good friends – had been great in bed together, in fact – but now he had Anica, and Fay had Charlie, and he wanted his friend to have at least one night filled with good food and happy memories before the war intruded upon their lives once more.

He would fix a seafood smorgasbord for the main course, he decided (he had just caught two dozen lobsters two days ago, steamed them and set them in partial-stasis in one of the Bags, alongside the roots, bulbs and tubers; they would be good for another five days normally, but he'd use them all tonight instead and catch more tomorrow). Sides would include roasted rosemary potatoes and grilled onions. He really wanted to include steak, a salad and cheese course, but he didn't have the ingredients on hand to do so. Shame, really.

Sitting in the main tent playing Wizard's Chess with Oliver Wood, Megan Jones overheard the announcement and Adrian's groused laundry list of missing items to make the "perfect meal," and wisely pointed out that they weren't that far from Kirkwall proper, where there was sure to be Muggle markets to pick up the things he needed. Getting permission from Blaise, who seemed to be de facto in charge since Malfoy and Granger were nowhere to be found at the moment, he, Oliver and Megan (who claimed extreme boredom and begged to go out with Adrian to town) transfigured their clothes to pose as Muggles to get the supplies needed. Going in threes was the smartest plan for such expeditions, as that number allowed for the best cover-and-retreat tactical maneuvers, in case of trouble, he knew. Besides, it kept Blaise from having a fit knowing that Adrian wouldn't be going alone.

When they were ready, he and his two associates walked to the edge of the camp wards and Disapparated for town. Before they left, Adrian checked his pocket Sandkeeper; it was almost two o'clock. He had four and a half hours before dinner. Time to get cracking!

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

"Penny?"

Neville lifted the flap on the tent he shared with his fiancée and found it empty. Where had she gone now? She wasn't in the main pavilion or out on patrol. Would she have stalked down to the beach in this accursed light rain? Lifting the hood on his cloak, he gathered the woolen garment closer and cast a warming charm, then headed off towards the dunes in the distance, hoping to find her.

She was sitting on the downwind side of a large boulder, watching the storm-tossed waves crash into the shore further down the sand line. Her beautiful face was marked with sorrow, her blue-green eyes half-lidded in lost thoughts. "Are you all right, love?" he gently asked, approaching with caution. Something had been off with her for the last few days, and her temper had flared a few times, creating a strain between them. It wasn't the time for her period, he knew, because that had come two weeks ago, and this brooding wasn't her typical gruff. She was bothered by inner demons, he could tell.

Penny didn't look up at him, merely turned her head to away, towards the opposite horizon. "I'm fine," she curtly stated. "Don't you have patrol?"

He knelt at her side, his knees cracking as he hunkered down. "Switched with Boot. Figured the newbie could use some time on the front lines to get some experience in." At her raised eyebrow, he put a hand up to stop her protest. "He's being mentored by Weasley for the next hour. I wouldn't just throw him to the wolves like that."

At the mention of Charlie's name, Penny scowled and turned her attention back to the ocean. "Did you hear?" she asked. "They announced it after lunch. Weasley and Dunbar."

He nodded. Yeah, he had heard through Zabini just twenty minutes ago about the impending nuptials tonight. Ironically enough, Snape was going to preside, being the eldest wizard in camp, per tradition. He wasn't sure how that was going to precisely go over, given his former Potions professor's lack of romantic idealism. He hoped the man who used to terrorize him when he was a child (and who now spoke to him with grudging respect) wouldn't be too coarse or severe.

"Aren't you bothered by that?" she sourly asked. "That they're getting married and we're not."

He was. He'd hoped he and Penny would be the first wedding in camp, honestly. "Yeah, a little," he admitted, not needing to explain, knowing she'd understand. He settled his arse down in the sand at her side, careful not to initiate any touching until she was ready. He'd learned his lesson this morning when he'd gone for her hand and she'd snapped at him.

She was silent again, and Neville sighed. "What do you want me to say, Penny? That I wish it were us instead? You know I do." He turned his head and looked at her profile. So beautiful. So cheerless. "Why have you been you pulling away from me lately? I don't understand. What's wrong with us?"

Her jaw clenched and her tone was hard when she spoke. "The rose-colored glasses finally come off, then? It's about time."

His brows lowered in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Scrunching her knees to her chest, Penelope wrapped her arms about them and stared out blankly into the distance. "I told you the week after we first got together that this was never going to work long-term, Nev. You fought me on it, remember? But I told you."

Neville's heart significantly paused and he stopped breathing long enough for him to feel the fire twisting inside his chest. "What are you talking about?" he whispered angry, not wanting to raise his voice and escalate the level of violence, knowing it was probably inevitable if she continued on this path. _Give her a chance to explain_, he cautioned himself, fighting down his panicked ire.

She was silent, and he could sense her gathering her courage to tell him something major. He waited for it, his fists clenched in the sand at his side.

"I can't marry you."

Neville's heart sunk just a little deeper into his guts. "And why not?" he calmly inquired despite his temper beating as wildly as his pulse behind his ribcage now, begging to be unleashed.

More silence.

"Explain it, Penny," he growled in barely restrained fury. "If you're dumping me flat, you'd better have a good reason."

Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and the bluster left her in a rush of air. "I'm barren. I can't carry a child to term."

Neville's world narrowed down to her words. "H-how do you know that?" he muttered, a little stung by her revelation, feeling a small rent in his chest open up.

Leaning her head back against the boulder, Penny looked off to the side again. "I told you that I had a miscarriage about a year and a half ago. It ruined my uterus. I'm too scarred up inside to carry a baby full-term. It'll self-abort. The attending medi-witch explained it back then." She bitterly huffed. "At the time, I didn't care. I didn't want to be with another man after everything. Then we got together. I didn't think it would become this serious so fast, and now… You keep talking about our future together, and in every fantasy, you mention children." Her eyes squinched up in pain. "I've been too afraid to tell you the truth. And I've been casting the Contraceptive Charm on myself all this time to keep you from guessing. I've conned you from the start, Nev." Her cheeks were streaked with her sadness now, rivulets of salted water winding their way down to drip off the edge of her perfect jaw line. "But it's begun to hurt too much - the lying. You're the best man I've ever known, and you deserve better than to be shammed." She sniffed and turned to him, withdrawn and defeated, brushing a hand across her face to wipe away her sorrow. "So you see, it's simple, Neville: you want kids. I can't give them to you. If we go our separate ways now, you can eventually find yourself a woman who can give you what you want. With all the new girls in camp from The Madam's House, you could easily find someone. You're a good catch."

Neville contemplated her words for about two seconds before rolling towards her, roughly grabbing her and pulling her onto her knees to face him. "I don't want another woman. What I want is_ you,_" he growled. With that, he slammed his mouth down on hers, throwing everything he had into that kiss, wanting to bind her to him, to force her to take back what she'd just said. He pulled away only long enough to chastise her non-participation. "Kiss me back, Penny." It was a warning, not gently said, but with heat. He pulled himself in and feasted at her lips once more, thrusting his tongue into her with a hot, fast rhythm. Gods, her scent and taste drove him wild!

She shoved him, trying to push his hands off, but he was relentless, refusing to let go. "Nev, stop this!" she gasped as she pulled her mouth away, toppling backwards onto her bum until she was pressed against the wind-smoothed rock at her back, her knees splayed out to either side of his bigger body, her hands on his shoulders. "Didn't you hear me? I'm defective! And I lied to you. You can't want me anymore," she protested, her hands shoving for all she was worth. Neville used his greater height and weight to pin her down, however, refusing to be budged. "I can't give you what you want!" she shouted at him.

"Yeah, you can, Penny," he murmured in between the heavy pants of his chest, his voice a low, rumbling need. "You always do." Uncaring of the elements, or of possible voyeurs, Neville pushed one hand up her shirt, tore her bra down and cupped her breast, bringing her tiny nipple to a hard point against his palm and fingers. Beneath him, Penelope hissed, shocked by such a sexually-aggressive move out in clear sight of the world. He pinched her rosy bud and her face bloomed crimson with awakening desire as she fought against the mewls of pleasure that escape her throat. Neville knew just where to touch her by now, and with how much pressure, and he exploited that knowledge to his advantage. "You see," he explained, leaning his hips against hers so she could feel his erection straining against his pants. "All for you."

"Nev, don't," she pleaded, crying again. "I'm giving you a chance to have your happy dream. Why won't you understand?"

Shoving one hand into her hair, he grabbed and pulled until her face was immobilized and he leaned over her. "Why won't you?" he asked, his tone now as hard as his stare and his frown. He continued to stroke her breast with his other hand as he bore down on her. "There will _never_ be anyone else. You're it for me." He bit her bottom lip a little hard as a small punishment for hurting him with this nonsense, and then because he couldn't help his nature, he lapped at it to soothe the hurt, trying to take it away. Penny moaned, violently trembling under him. "Are you saying you don't feel the same way? That you don't love me anymore? 'Cause that's the only way I'm letting you go, Penny. So, tell me the truth." When she didn't reply for a long minute, Neville's anger became a writhing, living thing in his abdomen, shooting up into his throat. "Just tell me, damn it all! You owe me this much. Do you still love me?"

Penny's shaking intensified, and she set her jaw. "You know I do," she grated between clenched teeth, shutting her eyes. "But you'll resent me for this someday, Nev. This is too big a thing to ignore. You'll hate me for not being able to give you your dreams."

He pressed his lips to hers again, continuing to stoke the flames between them. He needed his lover to lose control, to unreservedly give all to him again. It was the only way to break down her stubborn intent to destroy them - for that was obviously her goal: to drive him away. Her self-worth was in question _again_, and this time the issue of her barrenness was the rock upon which their relationship was tossed. The last time she'd tried pushing him away, the week after they'd begun their affair, it was her careless, reckless sexual history with other men and with drug and alcohol abuse that had her trying to break them up. They'd overcome that episode when he'd finally convinced her that her past meant nothing to him; that, in fact, they were all starting over as new people because of what the war had done to them. This time, though, her intrinsic worth as a woman – the very thing that defined a female: the ability to create and nurture life within - was the obstacle. That would be difficult for her to come to terms with. But what Penny didn't seem to understand was that given the choice, Neville would rather it only be he and her together for the rest of their days, than to live without her. He would not resent or regret a single day of their lives together.

Reaching for his wand in his back pocket, he prepared his mind for the spell he was just about to cast. "Hold on to me," he forewarned the instant before he Side-along Apparated her with him back to their tent. It had been dangerous magic – they could have splinched, and he hadn't practiced it often – but he'd accomplished it by concentrating on what he wanted most in the world in that second: to reach their bed together.

Casting for silence and privacy, he threw his wand down when finished and began tearing at Penny's clothes, ignoring her renewed protests. She fought him, of course, insistent that he was mad for wanting her still, slipping in and out of his hold to make a break for the exit, but Neville anticipated her moves and hemmed her in, refusing to let her run away. Dragging her down to their cot, he inelegantly yanked her pants and knickers off, and freed his cock from his own, not even bothering to fully disrobe. He needed to be inside her _now_, to show her how good they were together, so she'd give up this stupid idea of leaving what they shared behind.

With one shove of his knees, Neville had her opened to him, and then he thrust forward and joined their flesh and it was so delicious a sensation that he paused for a few seconds to experience the soft, silken warmth surrounding him. They panted hard as they stared each other in the eye. Penny was furious, but he simply gave her a knowing smirk. She definitely wanted this, despite her protests; her folds were soaking wet for him. Their body's reactions to each other were honest, even if the words coming from their mouths weren't.

He moved slowly, keeping his gaze locked on hers. The first time she whimpered and her lids shut involuntarily with a shudder of pleasure, and her hands went from pushing to gripping his biceps, he knew he had her. "Tell me honestly that you want to walk away from this," he challenged her, pulling all the way out and sliding back until he was sheathed to the hilt over and over. "Go on, Penny - I dare you. Say you want to break up with me because you don't love this anymore - that you don't love _me_." Sweat was beginning to bead on Neville's upper lip as he held himself back from pounding into her in a heated rush, but he kept up his insistent, measured rhythm. Leaning down, he placed his mouth on top of hers. "You can't, can you?" he buzzed her lips. "Because you want this – you want _us_ - as much as I do."

Tears dripped down her cheeks. "I was so careless and stupid before, and now this is my punishment," she sobbed, touching his cheek. "I can't give you a son or daughter."

He rolled his hips, making her gasp at the same time as he kissed her with his heart in his throat. "I love you, Penny," he whispered against her cheek. "I don't care about anything else. I only need _you_." Peppering her creamy white throat with kisses, he continued reaffirming his love for her the only ways he knew how. His hands entwined with hers on the pillow as he nuzzled her skin. "I won't let you walk away from me." He bit her a little hard to make his point again, then began sucking, leaving a bruise, marking her neck for the whole world to know who she belonged to. "You're mine, my beautiful Penny," he purred in her ear, punctuating that statement with a series of hard thrusts, just as he knew she liked. Under him, his amber-haired fiancée rode out his seduction and finally cried out in rapture, climaxing and crying at the same time. He held still, watching her face tense up with ecstasy, feeling her thighs squeeze and pull him closer, loving that her hands were tightly gripping his, and how he teetered on the edge as that rippling sensation from her contracting muscles threatened to bring him along any second… "And I'm yours," he fiercely pronounced and with a last brutal lunge, fully buried his shaft to the balls and shot his seed deep. It was bliss on tap, this release pounding through his veins like liquid fire.

When he came down from the high, Neville crashed onto his lover's sweaty body, his heart and soul emptied as he'd given her everything he had, praying it was enough to get through her stubborn defenses. He hurt all over, inside and out.

It took several more minutes for his breathing and heart rate to level. Weakly, he lifted his face from the crevice of Penny's shoulder and stared down at her. "You know, we can always adopt," he felt the need to remind her, throwing her a mischievous grin. "The war has made a lot of orphans."

Penny blinked up at him, this obviously being the last thing she'd expected him to say, her face a mask of incredulous hope. "Y-you would be okay with that?"

Removing one of his hands from hers, he stroked some wayward hair off her sweaty forehead. "I love you, Penny. You're my whole life. Anything we need to do to keep what we have, I'm willing." He looked her straight in the eye. "Just don't give up on us. Stay with me and make this work."

Nodding her head, Penny licked her lips, choking back another sob. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I love you. I love you _so much_."

They kissed and made love again, removing all their clothes this time. Neville's gorgeous fiancée took _him_ this time and it was glorious watching her body writhe above his, hearing her repeatedly admit she loved him, feeling them meld together as one when they climaxed. When Penny finally disentangled herself from the sheets to get redressed much later, it was nearly time for her senior staff meeting. Neville was feeling sated and lazy, so he stayed abed, watching her as she replaced each article of clothing, turned on once more by the sight of all that delectable flesh being teasingly hidden away.

As she made to leave, his lovely girl turned to look at him, a pink glow to her cheeks, her eyes flashing with fire and hope again. "On my birthday," she stated, smiling brightly for the first time in ages. "I'll marry you on my birthday." With that parting surprise, she left their tent.

Her birthday… mid-October.

Laying back and closing his eyes, Neville grinned like an absolute fool. A month and a week or so to wait and Penny would finally be all his in every way! He'd be counting down the minutes now in anticipation.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The pattering rain had slowed again to a sprinkle that lightly drummed against the tent roof. Draco's every sense was hyper-tuned as he lay on his side and watched Hermione slumbering against his chest, noting the wrinkling of her brow and the persistent frown that marred her features for the whole two hours she slept. He hurt for her, knowing where her dreams persistently took her. Twice she'd whimpered from the rise of fresh night terrors, and both times he'd calmed her, lulling her back into peace by wrapping one arm tightly about her, and gently stroking her cheek with the hand of the other, softly shushing her. He ached to wipe all of her crushing sadness away, to seduce the sorrow straight from her heart with his touch, to tell her the depth of his feelings for her. He wanted to _Obliviate_ her horrors and leave behind nothing but pleasant memories of simpler times. He yearned to take her away from this war so she would never know pain again. But Draco also knew that if he acted on any of those desires, he would irrevocably lose her. Chaining Granger to him for all her emotional and physical needs would crush her spirit a thousand times worse than anything McLaggen could do to her, as Hermione wasn't a woman to be caged or kid-gloved and she'd resent all attempts to treat her in such a way.

Checking his pocket Sandkeeper again, he noted that it was now a quarter past three o'clock. He had to get them both up so she could eat something before the meeting in his tent. With a deep, regretful sigh, he shook her awake. "Granger, wake up. Duty calls."

With fluttering eyelids, Hermione moaned in a low, languid, sleepy protest. The innocently erotic sound shot straight to his cock, making Draco grit his teeth against the need that suddenly flooded through him. The tip of his penis throbbed with the rush of blood up and down his hardening length.

Disgusted with himself for even contemplating taking advantage of Hermione while she was in such a piss-poor emotional state, Draco pulled his lower body away from hers, leaning up on one elbow to slant over her, while attempting to rouse her again. The last thing Hermione needed was his unwanted amorous attentions. For fuck's sake, she'd just been physically assaulted two days ago! Besides, the last thing she needed right now was for her world to shift any more than it already had. She needed him to be respectful of her feelings, and slathering his lust all over her was not the route to that goal.

But… _bloody hell_ if he didn't want to know what she felt like when she lost control. He often fantasized in the safety of his own cot at night of hearing her imploring moans in his ear, of feeling her fingernails digging into his shoulder as he pounded away inside her tight, sweet body, of tasting her tongue wrapped around his as he came deep in her. He _needed_ to make her scream aloud in pleasure that she was his alone and that she loved him.

He shut his eyes, trying to control his thoughts and feelings, to compartmentalize his emotions as his talents had always allowed. His body shook with the effort. _Walk away_, he firmly told himself. _Walk the fuck away from her right now before you do something stupid and hurt her worse. _Rolling swiftly to his feet next to the bed, he worked at collecting and toughening his resolve, his muscles tensed with repressed sexual energy. He slammed down his protective cold, magical and mental walls just before he shook Hermione's shoulder. "Come on, Granger, wake up!"

She opened those guileless, dark cinnamon eyes, blinking up at him without a shred of artifice, and Draco froze, his chest squeezing, his lower body uncomfortably tightening again. His whole body thrummed to attention, every nerve ending waiting on the precipice for the proper signal to ignite. He swallowed his desire. Slytherin's rod, he wanted her _so bad!_ He wanted to rip her clothes away and slam his aching bones into hers…

Locked in place by the pressure of his feelings, Draco fought for his very sanity. What he was contemplating was too dangerous. They couldn't do this - it would mess everything up. It would mess _her _up.

Shouldering his decision, shutting his lustful desires away, he straightened and turned his attention to the tent's exit, tightly wrapping his cloak about his body to shield his indecent erection from her sight. "We're having a senior staff meeting in my tent at four," he stated as indifferently as possible. "That's less than forty minutes from now. You should eat something before then. I don't need you fainting from hunger."

With that, Draco waved his wand over the tent flaps, parting them, and hurriedly strode away, internally cursing his own stupidity with every step.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Laying back against the pillow that still carried a hint of Malfoy's warmth, staring at the dark green fabric ceiling, Hermione let out the deep breath she'd been holding since the moment she'd woken up to find Draco leaning over her. It seemed she finally had her answer: clearly, he wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship with her. There would be no kissing, much less anything else between them - not now, and probably not ever.

Maybe she really _was_ damaged goods. Or, perhaps he thought she and Viktor were together? Wait, could Pansy have already made her move on him and found him receptive? Hell, maybe it was just as simple as he wasn't into her in _that_ way. Maybe it was just 'friends only' for them. Whatever the reason, she knew right then and there that their chance had just slipped past, and that there probably wouldn't be a repeat, given his reluctance to even look at her for very long.

Beating her fists on the sides of the cot, Hermione signed in angry resignation.

It took a minute, but she belatedly realized that the rain had stopped its fierce beating. It sounded more like a drizzle now. Just great! It was cold and wet and sleety, and she was going to have to go out in that mess to attend the gobsucking staff meeting where she would have to sit across from _him _and try not to think about how much she wanted to crawl into his lap and have him hold her against that solid, warm chest of his.

Fuck. Fuck. And FUCK!

Fiercely wiping away what had threatened to become her third round of tears for the day, Hermione wearily sat up and made it to her feet, looking for a comb so she could make herself presentable to the world, even though inside, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her cot and sleep the rest of the year away. She was so bloody tired of fighting the whole world. She thought now that she knew how Harry felt.

Just thinking of her best friend gave her that swift kick in the rear she needed to get up and get moving. If Harry could survive his pain without breaking, she could too, damn it all! This thing between her and Draco - it was a pity-party that would just have to be put on hold. She had more important things to focus on right now, like killing Voldemort once and for all and setting Harry free. It was a promise she'd secretly made to her best friend and she _intended_ on keeping it.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Blaise scowled at Pansy as she sauntered into Drake's tent ten minutes late for the afternoon meeting. "Spa treatment run a little over schedule again, princess?" he sarcastically sneered, crossing his arms and widening his stance to front his displeasure.

Parkinson merely gave him that exasperating, impish smirk – the same one she'd graced him with during their school years when she knew she had succeeded in getting his goat. "Oh, yes, it was certainly hard pulling away from Warrington's _magical_ hands, all right. That boy can give the best, meatiest rub downs… but then, you probably already knew that about him, didn't you, love? You did, after all, bunk in the same dorms back in school."

Blaise mouthed the word "bitch" at her, and the shrew actually threw back her head and let out a tinkling laugh, not in the least bit phased by his menacing antagonism.

Shaking his head, he ignored the dark-haired witch as she stepped up beside him, taking the seat to his left, closing their circle. Waving his wand over the tent, Blaise shut them all in and assured the privacy wards were tightly in place before turning to Malfoy and acknowledging his part accomplished with a nod. Then, he casually leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and lazily rested one arm over the back of his chair, listening as Drake called the meeting to order in typical Malfoy style: blunt and to the point. As he spoke, Blaise did his best to ignore the combined scents of sweat, leather and sex tickling his nose as Pansy demurely crossed her legs, leaning forward in her seat to give their leader her full attention.

"I want to know more about these elite Death Eaters that Mort's set on us," he curtly began, turning to Granger. "You said Rickett might have been killed by one using an Unmentionable Curse." He left the statement open ended, and Hermione confirmed with a nod of her head. "Blaise and I suspected we'd had a spy in camp soon after the Romanian group appeared," he admitted. "From what you and Pansy described, I agree that it's definitely one of these Trackers."

Blaise and he shared a look and Malfoy turned over the details to him without a word. Blaise was used to their silent communicative style by now so he rolled with the punches easily. "We started noticing a peculiar… fuzzing… around the edges of our minds when we attempted Legilimency randomly on the Romanian cell group members soon after they arrived in camp," he explained, clearing his raspy throat before continuing. The potion Snape had given him for his cough had worked, but he was still suffering the side-effects of the draught's burning aftertaste. "That peculiar feeling of knowing something didn't feel right around us became more pronounced after Granger left to chase Dunbar and Greengrass down at The Madam's place. We figured that someone's been intentionally dampening us with a sort of area-of-effect mind obfuscation spell. Neither of us has ever heard of such a thing, though."

Hermione considered his words. "Did you notice anything similar before leaving Romania to come here, Severus?" She meaningfully looked at her former Potion's professor.

Snape was intently thoughtful, his black eyes narrowing in deep consideration. "No. I, myself, noticed a similar effect soon after leaving the continent to return to England. Pinpointing the source has been problematic, even with my considerable proficiency in Legilimency." He focused that hawkish gaze on the Captain. "This Tracker has been trained well. Whoever it is, they are blocking me with flawlessly executed magical skill."

"Now that you mention it, I haven't noticed any unusual spikes in anyone's magical auras either," Weasley spoke up, shifting in his chair. "Well, except for the other night, when you all returned to camp and Stretton nearly lost his mind. His aura was out of control then, and too powerful to hide. But aside from that, it's been nothing but the typical emotional surges that people get from time to time. Even the night Rickett was killed. I _should_ have felt something then. An act that evil leaves a taint, so to speak. I didn't sense a thing. That's not usual for me." He looked around at the circle of confused expressions – Blaise's amongst them - and sighed, the weight of burdening knowledge wrinkling his lightly freckled and tanned brow. Crossing his ankles under his chair, Weasley leaned those large, powerful hands of his on his knees in preparation for some sort of confession. Blaise waited for it, his curiosity piqued.

"I've always had an inborn knack, I guess you could say, for seeing and feeling magical auras," the redhead admitted, his face flushing with embarrassment. "I can also get people to do whatever I want by… adjusting… their feelings."

Pansy hissed with surprise, her attention fully-attuned to the wizard across from her. She looked positively wary, as if ready to bolt from the room. "You're a Sex-Warlock."

Weasley's blush caught fire. Looking down at his knees, he nodded. "That's what Fay says. I never knew what I was until the other day, though."

Parkinson scooted her chair back, gripping the edges with white-knuckled hands, her entire body tense. This caused Blaise to sit up and take her reaction with a more serious attention. "What's up?" he softly asked, trying to capture her attention. She was fixated on Charlie, though, unwilling to look away.

"You can't trust him," she murmured low. "Not if he's a true Sex-Warlock."

The Captain spoke up then. "That's ridiculous! I've known Charlie since I was twelve. I trust him with my life."

Blue-black hair swished back and forth as Pansy shook her head in denial. "They manipulate everyone around them. It's in their nature. My boys I brought with me are more like Sex-Witches – passive magical aura manipulation, only heightening pleasure for themselves and their partner. But a true Sex-Warlock… a simple stroke against an aura with the right energy behind the magic and he can enrage, calm, or make a person so depressed they'd want to kill themselves. It's a more powerful magic than Legilimency, because it doesn't require casting." She shuddered, wrapping her arms about her thin frame. "My mother's power was the only equivalent in a female I've ever heard of, but she required touch to activate it. If ginger boy here is a true Sex-Warlock, he can do it by will alone and from a distance."

Theo, who had quietly been listening to the conversation, snapped his fingers then. "Maybe that's why you haven't been able to catch this Tracker. He might be a true Sex-Warlock."

Blaise whistled between his teeth and looked at Drake. "Hell, that would make sense. We've been looking for mind magic manipulation, not aura magic."

Pansy's brow folded downward. "But I've never heard of one being able to affect so many people at once. He must be extremely powerful – especially if he can manipulate another Sex-Warlock."

Hermione sighed and looked around, then focused back on Weasley. "Think back, Charlie. When did you notice that you couldn't sense auras the same way anymore? Was it back when you were in Romania or here only?"

Charlie's russet eyebrows wrinkled in reflection. "I-I _definitely_ remember having to shield myself all the time when we were in the bunker at Tulcea. The enclosed space made the emotions too painful to tolerate." He scratched the side of his head. "And I recall clearly feeling Severus' backlash of anger over being portkeyed to Ireland and not finding you there to greet us, Hermione. After that..." He rubbed his hand over his long bangs and shook his head. "At some point on the trek from Ireland to here it must have started happening. I'm not exactly sure when, as I don't use the ability all the time - it's uncomfortable. But I definitely can pinpoint the day we arrived in Ireland as the last time I remember the power not being fuzzed out."

"So whoever it is, they joined our group on the way from Ireland to Kirkwall," Malfoy stated in a tight, no-nonsense tone. His lips were white and pressed into a firm, taut line. "But that's not possible. We arrived here with the same number of people as when we left Tulcea."

"Unless someone here isn't who we think they are," Clearwater pointed out. "Maybe the Tracker secretly killed one of your group on the way here from Ireland, dumped the body and then replaced them using Polyjuice or by Transfiguring their features."

A fearful silence greeted that idea. To think that anyone could be eliminated and duplicated without one of the powerful Legilimens in their group – himself included – not guessing… Shit, that person had to be fucking good at playing chameleon, Sex-Warlock or no.

"Even if the Tracker knew the mannerisms of the person he or she replaced well enough to pull off a bait-and-switch, there would still be signs if it were Polyjuice," Granger broke the uncomfortable hush. "The Tracker would have to take a dose every hour, every day, and it's been weeks. And even with a Bag of Holding to contain all the ingredients and vials, there would still be signs – frequent sipping from some container of sorts, not to mention that gods-awful smell. Polyjuice in its raw form stinks to high heaven, so the scent would have to be masked by something else. Barty Crouch Jr. got away with it during the last Tri-Wizard Tournament only because old Mad Eye's natural body scent was…" Here she stopped, looking chagrined. "Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but let's be honest: he was rather _fragrant_. I haven't noticed anything so malodorous around camp, though. Has anyone else?"

Blaise looked around, noting the unanimous shaking of heads. Granger shifted to lean on one elbow on her chair's arm and tapped a dainty fingernail against her lips in deep thought, her mind jumping through the facts to draw conclusions quickly. Blaise absently followed her finger's movement, noting as the tip touched down in rhythmic measure, that Hermione's pink, very sweet-looking lips were chapped... Instantly, he drew away from such thoughts, knowing that obsessing over her again was a road leading nowhere fast. He reminded himself for the hundredth time who's girl she really was, and who's she would never be, and that cut short his half-hearted arousal. Clearly, he needed to get laid, though. Too bad Fay was taken. It looked like he'd have to make friends with someone from Pansy's group of girls if he ever expected to get over his funk.

"Well, then," Theo's voice drew him back in to the discussion. "That just leaves Transfiguration. But you'd have to be one hell of a caster to pull off a long-duration spell that requires that much concentration. Holding a shape that long that isn't your own corrupts you. Not to mentions exhausts you." His eyes narrowed in consideration. "It _could_ theoretically work, however, if you take on the mind of the thing you inhabit, and that thing happens to be another person. What do you think, Severus?"

Blaise's former Head of House was silent, considering what he knew. "Transfiguration was more Minerva's specialty, but there is a flaw with the idea: when the caster fell asleep, the metamorphosis would revert. Someone would have noticed if a complete stranger appeared in the bunk next to them."

"Unless they're taking a Wit-Sharpening Potion, a Restorative Potion and an Invigoration Draught cocktail to stay awake and alert," Pansy commented, biting the side of her lip, her gaze still warily fixed on the dragon tamer. "A 120 mL dose of Invig can keep an elephant on its feet for two days. A human?" She daintily shrugged. "Same dose, easily six or seven days. The Wit-Sharp and Restorative would allow them to function normally in the interim." She looked at Granger then, her dark eyes glittering with regret. "Some of my most popular girls popped this exact mix for two weeks straight to accommodate the celebratory party after Durmstrang was crushed, and the only side effect was a three day bed rest marathon after the fact." She grimaced, as if tasting bitter lemons, looking down at the floor again. "But the long-term effects – maybe a month or more of use - would be catastrophic. Prolonged lack of sleep makes a person go psycho. And then there's the issue of addiction…"

Blaise looked at her with incredulity, glimpsing a side of Parkinson he'd never really suspected before. Sure, he'd known her to be cunning and smart-mouthed, but that she actually knew _useful_ _facts_ was just creepy. That was twice she'd surprised him today. "When did you get so smart?"

Pansy unwound her arms from about herself, curled one of those little, feminine hands into a fist and slugged him in the arm something fierce. "I've always thought circles around you, Zabini. You've just been too asleep to notice."

He blinked, unsure of what to say in comeback for the first time in their long enmity. It was because Parkinson was partially correct, he realized; he _had_ been too distracted by her obnoxiousness to notice that her intelligence extended beyond the ability of cutting, rapier-quick insults. She hadn't exactly matriculated low-witch on the totem pole, had she? In fact, she would have graduated in the top twenty of their class, if not for the war. Apparently, he'd been underestimating her all this time - and that fact didn't sit well with Blaise, who prided himself on being a master at reading people.

"So, let me get this straight," Theo brought them back on-track again, ticking points off on his fingers. "We're potentially looking for an elite, murderous, extremely powerful Death Eater with personalized training by Lord Mort, disguised most likely through Transfiguration, impersonating someone who had been a member of the Romanian cell. They're a possibly unstable potions addict, maybe even a Sex-Warlock, and they can cast spells we've never even heard of that have devastating effects."

"We're fucked," Clearwater quite accurately summed up the situation.

"Not necessarily," Granger, ever the optimist, chimed in. "We have a few things on our side that may balance or tip the scales. First of all, we have numbers. The Tracker is only one person, to our forty-plus group. More eyes and ears and… _talents_… are available." She turned to Pansy. "I want you to put your people on high alert. Have them using their abilities to scan all the time for aura 'blips.' Anything that would be unusual – dark or negative energies, especially." She turned to Charlie. "You and Fay are our heavy hitters here. Do likewise."

Snape shifted in his seat, switching his crossed legs with a smooth move. "It would be wise to ask the Vampires in camp to use their mind magic to attempt to penetrate the block as well. Like Mr. Weasley, their powers are innate, and require no spell casting. It is perhaps an opening we can exploit, seeing as Legilimency is too obvious and has failed to deliver results – even with someone of my own, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott's talents for the art."

Hermione looked at her old teacher. "I thought you didn't trust Jeremy or Su."

A quick blink was all the indication Blaise had that Snape was uncomfortable with being questioned by a junior in such a fashion. "If you'd actually been given proper Defense Against The Dark Arts instruction, you'd know that Vampires cannot break an oath once made. Their word is their bond. The female has properly offered her promise according to custom. And you obviously trust Mr. Stretton."

"Which reminds me," Blaise remembered. "I just found out this morning that Jeremy's an Animagus to boot. Black leopard. I've asked him to test everyone in camp for the skill and teach them if they show proficiency." He looked askance at Pansy. "It could be a good spy network now that we've lost inside intelligence from The Madam's House."

Malfoy wolfishly grinned. "Nice."

Blaise shrugged. "It's a craps shoot. There may not be anyone else in camp with the skill."

"Still a good idea," Penelope stated, nodding in approval of the plan. "I can tell you right now that I'm not one. I was tested in seventh year by McGonagall."

Theo cleared his throat and nervously looked at Snape. There was a moment of silent communication between the two men, and then the younger Slytherin nodded, as if they'd come to a unanimous decision about revealing something important. "My shape's a dog, like my Patronus."

Blaise's grin lit up his face. "Sounds like a personal problem, mate."

Nott flipped him off with two fingers and they shared a companionable chuckle; it was sixth year all over again for both of them in that minute. That year, with Drake occupied trying to meet the Dark Lord's tasks, and Blaise not trusting Crabbe or Goyle further than he could throw them, he and Nott had begun to hang out more. They joked around, talked about girls, cheated at homework, and sat together at dinner in the Great Hall swapping stories. By that December, they'd become nearly inseparable – the Dunderheaded Duo, as Pansy had mockingly referred to them. After Dumbledore's death, though, Nott had become withdrawn, and their friendship had slid to the wayside entirely - which had hurt like a son of a bitch. First his childhood friend, Drake, had abandoned him, then his new best friend, Theo, had done likewise - and all within the space of ten months. All these years later, Blaise now understood why the separation was necessary after talking to the guy earlier (Theo had become Snape's prodigal student in secret, and wasn't allowed close relations with others while in training, to keep him from being distracted), but it had still sucked hard to feel so isolated and unwanted.

As he thought about it now, though, Blaise felt sorrier for Theo than for himself, because in a way, his friend had been thrust into a role he hadn't wanted and forced to grow up too soon. Come to think of it, Malfoy and Potter both had been that way, too. And yet, all three of them – men from completely different walks of life, who were as different from each other as the sun, the moon and the earth – all fought for the same basic thing: freedom.

And what higher cause did he fight for? Blaise wondered for not the first time. What was his ultimate destiny?

Who the fuck knew?

But he had one of those gut feelings that never boded well that he'd die for it, whatever it was.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

"Blaise, you're in charge of Stretton on the Animagus project," Malfoy succinctly ordered. "I want an update by tomorrow morning – a plan and schedule in place."

Zabini nodded once, his dark face back to brooding, Hermione noted. That man switched moods as frequently as Malfoy did. It must have something to do with them both being Geminis, she thought.

"Pans, it's like Granger said: you're the lead on your people's monitoring the camp," her enigmatic leader continued, taking charge once again. "And Weasley, you're on with Fay."

"Got it," Parkinson replied, all business. Charlie simply nodded in acquiescence to the order given.

Hermione watched as Malfoy turned to his godfather next. "Keep an eye out for potions ingredients, vials, or anything related. And make sure no one's stealing from your stores." He mockingly smirked. "Not that I'm worried about that very much with you around to guard your stash." Snape's black eyes glittered; he was clearly not amused with Draco's impertinence. "Cadwallader's progress," he quickly switched subjects again, keeping them all on their toes in typical Slytherin style. "Where are we?"

Severus sighed, his face aging with lines of exhaustion in seconds. "The young man's mind is sharp, but he will never be powerful enough to keep out a strong Legilimens. I'm afraid he would be compromised too easily in The Fortress - unless we send him in with someone who can mask him well enough."

Malfoy shook his head. "Then the plan's a wash-"

"I'll go."

Not just Hermione, but everyone else in the tent, turned to look at Nott as if he'd grown a second head.

"I can hide your man's mind the same as I did for Granger when Phaedra first met her," he offered. "And the Death Eaters still think I'm on their side."

Hermione adamantly shook her head, the pressure in her chest exponentially increasing in proportion to her dread. "McLaggen got away," she practically vomited over the name. "You're compromised if he talks. _Absolutely not_, Theo."

Dark eyes, so like his father's, challengingly blinked at her. "I can handle McLaggen."

Deep in the pit of her stomach, Hermione cringed at the promise for retribution held in Theo's eyes. He was angry – for her. He'd been present and obviously seen some of what Cormac had done to her that day. Clearly, he felt guilty for failing to protect her then, and was looking for absolution… with a dash of revenge on the side for good measure. "You can't change the past," she firmly stated, holding back the panic attack that threatened to consume her, reminding herself of what was at stake here outside of her own feelings – specifically, Theo's life. Her fists were clenched over the end arms of her chair with force, her nails digging into the wood underneath to keep her from acting upon her rising anger. "It wasn't your fault. Don't be reckless with your life because you're trying to prove something."

The tension in the air was thick and suffocating, but Hermione held her ground, refusing to look away from the burning intensity of Theo's stare.

"I'm your best option to see this mission through," he calmly stated, belying the exasperation setting into his features. He held out his left forearm and pulled the sleeve back. Hermione unconsciously flinched as she spied the Dark Mark, hating the sight of that malign sigil. "They think I'm one of them. And I'm a powerful enough Legilimens and Occlumens. If you need a way for your spy to get into Mort's ranks, I can vouch for him to Macnair. That'll get him into the castle without either of us getting too close to the Dark Lord."

She shook her head. "If Cor told them about you, you'd be walking to your death, Theo. We'll find another way. I never liked the idea of sending Philip in to begin with."

Theo dropped his arm and considered her. Then, he turned to Snape. "What was Cadwallader's mission?"

Severus circumspectly looked at his son. There was a pregnant pause, and then the elder man shook his head. "Miss Granger is correct. It was a foolish idea with little merit from the start. We shall not pursue it further."

_Thank the Founders, _she silently prayed. Snape was finally starting to consider something in this bloody war as too sacred to risk. The ends, in Theo's case, wouldn't justify the means after all.

Nott stared at his mentor and teacher for a moment, realized he wasn't going to get what he wanted from the man, and calmly turned to Malfoy next. "Tell me."

_No, don't you dare open your mouth_, she willed the man she loved. _Don't tell him! He'll insist to go and he'll die._

Almost as if hearing her, Malfoy clamped his mouth shut, impassively meeting his friend's gaze.

"I hate being coddled, you know. I've been doing the spy thing for two years. I'm no neophyte, and I understand the enemy in a way you never would. This treating me like a first year shite is making me angry," Theo warned in a low growl. When no response was forthcoming, he sat forward in his seat and elegantly folded his hands in his lap, trying a new tact. "Okay, shall I pull the information from your head then, Drake?" he coldly challenged, raising an eyebrow. "You're a brute at mind magic, I'll admit that. But like Blaise, I'm more the refined and unrelenting Legilimens by comparison, and that makes me the stronger of the two of us in this case. We both know I could take the answers from you anytime, if I wanted. Just like I could from my father - right, Severus?"

Snape hissed, leaning back in his chair, his pale skin graying and going waxy, his eyes bulging. Clearly, he'd had no idea that Theo knew the truth of his parentage.

A bitter smirk graced the side of Theo's handsome face. "So, will you tell me what I want to know of your own free will, or will I have to get it from your head without your permission?" His eyes slanted over to Hermione with something akin to regret. "Or from hers? Your choice, Drake."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and without any warning whatsoever, a backlash of black, inky power seemed to roll off him in waves to irradiate the air. It was actually a visible effect, which had everyone in the room – minus Theo, who seemed undaunted by the show - gasping and sitting back in surprise. Draco emitted no sound, but the licking flames of dark magic weaving patterns around his whole body created a cold in the air reminiscent of a Dementor's ability. His strong grip on the arms of his chair caused them to creak from the strain. He was _wicked_ angry. Hermione had never seen him like this, ever.

Dear lords above, at any minute there was going to be bloodshed. And over what exactly? This was ridiculous! "_ENOUGH!_" she shouted, shooting to her feet. "The mission with Cadwallader is scrapped. It was unnecessary to begin with." She slowly whirled around, pointing her wand at each person and making sure to lock eyes with them all as she spoke, landing at last on Malfoy. "This is _my_ call, and anyone who doesn't like it can go fuck themselves." It was the first time she'd sworn in such a manner in the present company, but she was hardly concerned at the moment, as she was currently having a metaphorical dagger-throwing contest with Malfoy. "Now back down," she grated between clenched teeth, looking between him and Nott. "Before I hex both of you back into the Stone Age."

Malfoy blinked and his shoulders relaxed and just like that, the menacing haze flickered and dispersed. She wasn't sure how he'd accomplished that whole 'darkness glowing' thing, but she'd most definitely ask him later. Hermione trained her wand on Theo again. "And if you ever, _ever_ pop into my head without my permission, I swear to Merlin, Theo, I'll spank you down _hard_. Got it?"

For a tense minute, the man who had only recently become her friend coolly measured her with fathomless, dark eyes. Then, he smirked and a teasing light eased across his handsome face. "Promise, mum?"

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden switch in moods.

Charlie coughed back a chuckle and moved his legs out from under his chair, uncrossing them. "I can't believe you said the word 'fuck,' Hermione," he sheepishly murmured around a tweaking grin and a solid blush.

Pansy whistled, smirking. "Who'd have thought that the little bookworm had such a naughty vocabulary?"

"Yeah, did you hear that?" Blaise took up the game, his eyes showing clear relief over the dodge she'd just accomplished, even as his mouth shot off with its usual level of obnoxiousness. "That was hot! And she offered to paddle you, too, Theo. You lucky bastard!"

Clearwater just grunted and sat back into her chair, her wand firmly in hand, but seemingly relaxed as she realized the confrontation was over.

Snape was still too floored by Theo's revelation to make any kind of acknowledgement.

Were they all nutters or was it just her?

Gods help this rebellion with leaders like these!

Sitting back down, feeling rather foolish, Hermione put her wand up and indignantly huffed. "Anyway, if you're all through with the egocentric male posturing and the need to make my blood pressure jump fifty points, can we move on, _please_? I've been sitting on some information for days now, and I need to share it."

"Ooooh, she's all into the sharing now," Zabini playfully leered. "Can I get the promise of a spanking too, then?"

Penelope lazily pointed her wand in his direction and fired off a small stinging hex. "Respect," she muttered in irritation around Blaise's yelp of surprise. She turned and gave Hermione back the floor. "What's on your mind, Captain?"

Wow. Clearwater was _fabulous_. Hermione made a mental note to do something special for the woman in the future. She'd just have to think of something that the gruff, somewhat distant Penelope might like. Maybe Neville would know?

Clearing her throat, she threw herself over the proverbial cliff and divulged all of the revelations she'd had while at The Madam's House. "I have a theory as to how we can beat Lord Mort," she began the long-winding explanation. Every eye was trained on her - not with amusement, but with deadly intensity. The only set she concentrated on was directly across the circle from her, however; steely grey focused on her every nuance. "I had a lot of time to think, and read while I was at Phaedra's house of sin. And I looked at everything from my sixth year at Hogwarts to today and saw a pattern. That is, if you try to think as Voldemort would." She wished she had some coffee so she could whet her drying mouth. "This is going to sound a little crazy, I realize-"

Pansy snorted, tapping her fingernails on the arm of her chair in succession twice. "Granger, you're the craziest bitch I know. Anyone who'd break into the second most guarded facility dedicated to evil in all of Britain gets my support every time." She grinned. "I don't know about the others, but hit me with your best shot."

She took a deep breath, looked around and got the nod from the others to go. The first thing she did was fill in Pansy, Penelope, Theo, and Blaise with her theories on Harry not being completely sublimated by Lord Mort yet. She included some of the most recent dream walks as reconfirmation, including the fact that Harry had taken her into one of his memories just a few days ago (she intentionally did not mention her interest in Malfoy's younger self in that dream, however, out of embarrassment).

Then, she went into the new ideas, starting with the Wand of Destiny, and how she believed – like Snape, according to his margin notes in _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ book he'd loaned her – that Malfoy was the wand's Master still, _not _Harry, because her friend had never beaten Draco at a duel where he was carrying the Elder Wand in hand. That received a fair share of surprised and shocked looks (especially from the man she loved, whose mouth dropped open with surprise). She finished it up by explaining her theory that tied everything together – specifically, that faced with a continuous struggle from Harry's internal fighting and a looming coup d'état from a Death Eater rebellion, _and_ that the Elder Wand was not recognizing him as its Master (since it owed its allegiance to Malfoy still), that Mort would absolutely have to take drastic steps immediately to counterbalance his weakened state – such as looking for ancient, powerful spells to boost his strength. "And what better place to do that then Dumbledore's personal library?" she asked. "All the books of the Headmasters and Headmistresses over the ages are right there at his fingertips. I think that's how he stumbled across the Unmentionables," she explained. "And then he set up the Trackers – his hand-picked assassins - to kick his rebellious Death Eaters back into shape and make them toe the line."

Something occurred to her right at that moment, and she shared it while still puzzling through the idea. "I wonder, though, why the Tracker hiding out in camp hasn't moved on killing you," she posited, looking right at Draco. "You'd think he'd want you out of the way." She stopped, tapping the lip of her mug with one finger. "Unless he needs to capture you alive?"

Zabini made a hissing noise through his teeth – the sound of enlightenment. "If Mort can beat you in a duel while you're holding the Elder Wand, Drake," Blaise's lightning-fast mind posited the conclusion for them all. "He'll become its Master. All he'd need to do was capture you, hold you down with a Petrify spell, and put the Wand of Destiny in your fingers. Then he could kill you and take control of it once and for all."

"No one could stop him then," Snape finished, nodding. "Yes, very good. A plausible explanation for the timeline of events."

"But why wait?" Weasley interrupted, poking a hole in the theory. "Why didn't he move on Malfoy years or even months ago?"

Hermione considered it. "I don't think Voldemort actually figured out Malfoy was still Master of the Elder Wand until Harry slipped up and gave him that information accidentally - which I think may have been right around the same time as Harry started weakening and reaching out for me in dreams, six months ago or so." She tsk'd and shook her head, knowing there was more to it. She could feel it in her guts. "Also, until the Trackers came along, the Death Eaters were disloyal, right? But with the Trackers on the loose now, cleaning up the 'home team,' as it were… If I were Lord Mort, only after I could trust my army again would I feel I could put it out into the country to search for Malfoy. Otherwise, those still harboring thoughts of rebellion might question the order, and then figure out that their Master was, in effect, weaker than the leader of the insurgents."

"Which explains the massive campaign that he's launching in a little over a week to go house to house and force the Dark Mark on everyone," Theo spoke up. "He thinks his Death Eaters are ready now. He's killing two birds with one stone this way: wiping out those not loyal to him, and assuring that he'll have friendly eyes and ears everywhere to hunt down and flush out Draco."

Something still didn't sit right with Hermione. There was something she was missing… "I'd have more than one plan in place if I was that desperate to get my hands on Malfoy."

"How about putting a Tracker in the camp of my enemy to kidnap Drake?" Pansy rhetorically asked.

"Or to find out what Drake's best weakness was to force him to heel," Blaise concluded.

Hermione stopped breathing, and abruptly stood, the pit of her stomach opening up as it all finally clicked into place. Unadulterated panic rippled through her system, jacking her adrenaline levels through the roof, slamming her heart under her rib cage so hard that it threatening to break its way out. "_Shit_ - Astoria! They'll use the baby!" She ran out of the tent as fast as she could, looking for Greengrass, spurred on by a palpable, unmitigated urgency. Hot on her heels followed the others.

But it was too late. Even before attempting to search the whole of the camp and the surrounding area, Hermione knew deep in her heart that Astoria had been taken by the enemy - Malfoy's unborn the intended target this time. For confirmation she need look no further than up at the weeping sky above their camp, where their harbinger of doom hung grinning evilly down upon them all, blighting the heavens with black shadow.

_Morsmordre_ had been cast.

At Hermione's left shoulder, Pansy let out a shaky breath. "Oh, my God."

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	18. Ch 17: The War At Our Door

**Chapter Seventeen: **_**The War At Our Door**_

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Thursday, September 7, 2000 (Late Afternoon to Evening)**

Hermione was all business in a heartbeat, her body moving on automatic pilot now that the war was upon their doorstep. She turned on Malfoy first. "New jump point set?"

He nodded. "Heads each have a portkey." He turned to Penelope. "Who's on the perimeter?"

The red-head considered for a moment. "Markham, Warrington, the Patil twins. Warrington's a hitter. The others not so much, but they'll stand and fight to the end."

Hermione winced. She hadn't even had a chance to say hello to her old Gryffindor roommate and the witch's sister yet. Perhaps now she never would. Pushing her regrets aside, she barked her order in a brook-no-argument tone, knowing Clearwater would want to stay at her side, but needing her not to for a variety of reasons, most having to do with the woman's fiancé. "I want Patronuses from everyone when you're safe to jump away." She turned her dark gaze on Penelope's aqua-blue one. "Find Neville, Pucey, Anica, and Toia. Magic the food and main tent. Do the rest, only if there's time. Otherwise, leave it. _GO!_"

Weasley was next. Draco gave the order this time. "Find Stretton, Bradley, Wood, and Swann. Get them and yourself to the perimeter. Staggered formation, left to right, five meter spread between. You, Warrington and Bradley on the front, Stretton, Wood and Markham behind, Swann and the twins last line to cast _Protego_ over all of you. Hit them hard before they can touch down."

Charlie paused, and Hermione instantly knew what he was thinking, seeing his brows lower in consternation. "Don't worry about Fay. I'll make sure she gets out." Her friend gave her a piercing look that demanded her promise. The man obviously wouldn't leave his lover behind. "On Ron's soul, I swear to you, she'll make it out alive."

It was good enough for him; he was a Weasely – part of her extended family - and he trusted her to do the right thing by him. He turned and ran to do as ordered, leaving the fate of his future happiness in Hermione's hands.

Sighing deeply, her attention focused on the remainder of the heads group, all of whom looked to her for direction. "Zabini, Parkinson, Nott – get as many of the rest as you can the hell out of here. Split up. Don't leave any behind. Parkinson, make sure Fay goes with you, _no matter what_. She's your priority. Go now!"

"Left," Blaise informed, and headed off in that direction.

"Right," Nott volunteered and moved out without another word.

Pansy ran for the center of the camp, looking for Fay first and foremost. She cast a lingering look over her shoulder towards the left just once, before disappearing behind a tent.

Hermione turned to find Viktor at her elbow. Her ex- was nothing if not loyal. "I need you and your two friends on the front to cover retreat with us. Center stage, near Weasley." He nodded without any debate, turned and took off to locate Sorin and Istok presumably, to bring them to the perimeter.

Draco was already talking to their former Potions professor next. The older man was pale, alert, but his feelings were carefully concealed behind a cold mask of disciplined restraint. "Get Cadwallader to help you pack your things. Meet us at the rendezvous."

Snape stared at his godson for a second, and in his sable eyes, Hermione saw true affection and intense sorrow. "Either you or Miss Granger – one of you should not stay behind." His meaning was clear, and obvious: they were going to lose some people most likely in this retreat, so one of them had to go now, while the other covered.

Hermione came to her leader's side brushing her arm against his and feeling the jolt of riotous butterflies erupt in her tummy. She focused, pushed aside her needs, and addressed Snape as calmly as possible. "I'm staying behind to cover." She swallowed her fear, refusing to look about, knowing Malfoy was surprised by her announcement and that in a moment he would fight her on it. She pushed on, not giving him a moment to rally his thoughts, however. "If something ever happens to either of us, assume you're in charge, Severus. Work with Zabini, Weasley, Parkinson, Clearwater and your son - if any of you make it out. They are the backbone to this op, and I think it's safe to say that we both trust each of them with our lives."

In a rare moment of uncharacteristic emotion, Snape put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Don't be too eager to be brave, Miss Granger. Our little insurrection needs _you_, too." With that, he swirled away in a cloak of darkness, heading for his tent.

Finally, it was only she and Malfoy left. She still did not look at him just yet, gathering her courage. "I want you to go with him," she nodded in Snape's direction, and from the corner of her eyes, she caught his fiercely shaking platinum-blond head. "He _has_ to make it out. The cause needs his knowledge, experience and deviousness to win this one. Snape's got a whole network of people underground in Europe that you can call on if things get bad here on the island. He can hide the majority of the group, if need be. He's indispensible. You know that."

Now she turned to glance up at him. Draco's jaw was firmly set. "I'm not leaving your side. Never again."

Her heart clenching in dread – _gods_, how could she leave him, even if it was just for a short while, to make sure he escaped unharmed? - she reached up a hand and touched his cheek, running her fingertips over the smooth, pale skin. Malfoy froze, his grey eyes widening in astonishment. She couldn't give him the chance to stubbornly override her on this one. She had to make him understand, convince him, pull out every trick in the book to get him to go. Because, when it came right down to it, this group wouldn't win without him. His connection to the Wand of Destiny would most likely be the thing that defeated Mort in the end, so he _had _to make it out.

"The group needs your cunning and strength," she firmly stated, belying the gentleness of her touch against his warm flesh. "They're going to need you to protect them in the new location, and to get them settled. And Astoria needs someone who's going to care about her to save her." He looked to argue and she placed her fingertips over his lips. "I know you don't love her. I know it was an accident. But I also know _you_. She's carrying your child. Even if you have no feeling for her, I know you do for the baby growing inside her, regardless of how aloof you act. That's your heir - your chance for something good to come out of this war. I know you won't let her or the baby die if you can prevent it. I trust you to get her to safety."

With tears beading her lashes, she rose on tiptoe and pressed a small kiss to his lips – barely a feathery touch, wishing there was time for more, wishing that this first kiss wasn't done in reckless urgency and fear. "Go with Snape, _please._ Assure he makes it out. Use him to get you in close to Mort somehow. Remember that the Elder Wand is _yours_. If you can claim it, you can end all of this. That's what Harry's been trying to show me, I'm sure. That's why, of the two of us, you're the more important. You're the only chance we have to end this madness. After the war, then we can… build a new life… together, if you want. But that can only happen if you leave now, if you get to safety. You can't die here." She pressed her cheek into his neck and she whispered in his ear. "Please, do this for me. This is the only thing I'll ever ask from you, Draco. _PLEASE_."

He was shaking with repressed anger, unable to find fault with her logic, knowing that if he stayed and they both died, this rebellion would fail and Mort would win. Then everything they'd worked so hard for, everything they'd sacrificed would be in vain. He couldn't stay to cover the rear; that was her job as his Second, and he knew it. She pulled away, saw this knowledge flash through his arctic gaze, felt his despair in the trembling of his breath against her cheek as they stood so close – so damned close that it hurt to wonder why they hadn't done this sooner - and she watched his internal struggle. It was only seconds that ticked by, but finally, she knew by the capitulation in his haunted eyes that she had won and he would not deny her last request.

"We're jumping to the Wicklow Mountains in southeastern Ireland," he quickly explained, tearing a waxed string necklace from about his neck, hidden under his shirt. He thrust it into her hands. A tiny purple vial hung from the end of it. "The vial is the key. _Don't_ open it – no matter what. It's spelled not to get crushed. Just activate it normally with the Portus spell. It'll bring you back to me."

He did something unexpected then – he grabbed her around the waist with one arm, thrust his other hand into her thick hair and pulled her face to his, bending his head to her mouth, claiming her lips in a heated, desperate kiss that made her stomach clench with desire. Hermione's heart slammed under her chest as his soft mouth wrought havoc with her resolve. Why couldn't he have done this with her months ago? Why did it have to be now, on the brink of a battle that could very well turn the odds against them? If only they had more time…

Pulling his lips away, he pressed his forehead to hers, running his hand up to her cheek, cupping it. His thumb gently stroked her bottom lip. "No more running from me after this, Granger. _No more_. When you get back… I'm permanently chaining you to my side." He nuzzled her cheek and softly bit her lobe, breathing sultry air across the shell of her ear. "I'm making you mine."

Choking back a sob, afraid this might be her last opportunity, Hermione gripped his shirt between clenched fists and pulled herself as close to him as possible. "I love you," she admitted, sliding her face against his until their mouths aligned once more. It wasn't the appropriate place or the way she'd ever intended on declaring such a thing to him, but it was important that he know the truth, no matter their imperfect surroundings. "I have for years, Draco. Only you." Running her lips over his, she looked him in the eye with impetuous sincerity. "You can do whatever you want to me when I get back. I promise."

He groaned and opened his mouth to respond, but at just that second, an offensive shrieking split the sky, announcing the arrival of Death Eaters – their inky trails of smoke trailing behind them through the mouth of the Dark Mark above – and tore them from the moment. The perimeter alarms screeched, adding to the cacophony of noise, and chaos ensued as people ran here and there trying to gather up last minute belongings.

Their time was up, their chance over.

Pulling from his embrace with terrified reluctance – Hermione didn't want this to be the last time she might see him! - she took several steps back, keeping a lock on Malfoy's steely gaze. "I'll meet you in Ireland. You can tell me what you wanted to say then. Be safe, _please_." She held onto his hand for a moment longer, ignoring the shouting that went up all around them in camp, focused only on his beauty and strength, absorbing it to give her a measure of extra courage, and then she let him go. Quickly, turning on her heel before she changed her mind, she ran to the perimeter, hoping to every known deity on the planet that there was enough time and strength in their numbers to repel what was coming, and praying that the man she loved with all her soul made it out alive.

As she dashed to the front lines, Hermione licked her lips, tasting Draco one more time, and then refused to think anymore about wasted time or worries about the battle to come. She had to ground herself in the here and now if she wanted that future together she spoke of; she'd die if she didn't concentrate on what was right in front of her, instead of daydreaming. Forcing down her despair, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, and thrust the precious portkey given to her down the front of her bra where it would stay snug and safe.

Sprinting for the open grass field until her heart nearly burst, Hermione noted that the first wave of attacks had already begun – and Alin Istok was the first casualty, falling in a bath of green light as he was _Avada_'d as he stepped in front of his friend, Sorin, taking the curse meant for the other man. She hadn't really known the wizard from Durmstrang, but that kind of courage and loyalty… She was suddenly very sad for the loss, and struggled to hold back another round of tears that sprang into her eyes.

She reached Viktor's side as quickly as possible and took charge, immediately dropping into a defensive crouch and shouting orders to spread out and hold the line at Malfoy's directed five-meter staggered spread. Unleashing the first curse of the day herself – a _Stupefy_ that took one Death Eater in the chest, she and her Bulgarian friend held the front of the line effectively in the middle, working beautifully as a team, their movements in concert. In between, she looked to see who was about, trying to gauge the strength of her people.

Charlie was to her left, past him was Bradley. Warrington was to her right past Viktor, Sorin on the far edge of the front line now that Istok was gone. It was a good show of strength and experience up front to give courage to those in the two lines behind. They might just be able to buy the time the rest of the camp needed with a group of this caliber.

As she turned her head to shout for the third group to continue recasting _Protego_ (which was designed to fall apart after one hit; the magic was only intended to temporarily capture and disperse energies, so it needed to be recast after each breach), Hermione caught the red flash of the spell that felled Jason next. The vicious curse worked amazingly quick, and was one she had never seen before. Swann was screaming, clutching his head, and after half a minute, quite literally, his skull exploded from tremendous pressure, sending blood, bone, teeth, lumps of hair and pieces of brain matter flying everywhere. Jason's arms, which had been holding his head in pain seconds before slumped to the now-lifeless body's side, and then the entire corpse swayed once, and simply collapsed to the ground, covering the tall grass about it in red and grey gore. The body kept twitching as dark sanguineous fluid spurted from severed arteries and the nerves expired one at a time.

It was the most horrible thing Hermione had _ever _seen, and would surely haunt her nightmares for years to come.

"_HOLY SHIT!_" Kenny Markham shouted, his eyes wide with terror as he watched his best friend abruptly die before him. Bright red patches of Swann's vital fluids were splattered across his face, even at the distance he had been from ground zero. "_MOTHER FUCKERS!_" he bawled in rage, and let out an _Avada Kedavra_ that hit a Death Eater dead center. That was one Tracker fewer they'd have to worry about, at least (for Hermione knew that what had killed Jason had to have been an Unmentionable - which meant that the one who cast the magic had been one of Mort's elite dogs).

As if goaded on by the death of one of their own, and encouraged by Kenny's successful attack, the entire front line hit Mort's wizards with streams of spells. Red, green, purple, white flashed through the darkening sky, and dark robed figures crumpled to the ground under their might.

The first of the Patronuses finally arrived about a minute later. It was Clearwater's Occamy, letting them know she and her group were away, before dissolving as the spell reached its conclusion. It was followed by Pansy's Patronus – a Vixen. Hermione let out a breath, knowing her new friend had gotten Fay out, as ordered. One promise met. Now if she could only meet the one she had given Malfoy…

Viktor roughly shoved her to the side, and took a hit meant for her. Whatever the spell had been, it flashed blue over him and he winced, then sat back up and fired off a counter into the mob, shielding her with his bigger body. Hermione cursed her stupidity; she'd allowed a distraction to her concentration! She _had_ to shut thoughts of Draco out of her head! "Are you hurt?" she cried out to her ex-, her hands automatically reaching for the side of his body that had been nailed by the curse.

Her former beau shook his head. "Small slice curse. Did not hurt," he lied. She could already see the spread of blood soaking into his light brown shirt on the right side of his body and the sheen of sweat across Viktor's upper lip and brow. Pain flashed in his eyes, and his face paled, but he refused to back down.

"Sorin!" she screamed, and within seconds, the slippery Romanian was at their side. Shoving a hand into her brassier, she took out the portkey and slammed it into the other man's hand. "He's hurt. Take him and go." She shoved Viktor at Arcos. "Activate the key with a Portus spell. Do it now!"

There was a moment where Viktor shook his head and reached for her, but she pulled back and gave him a sad smile. "See you, Vik," she murmured the old nickname she hadn't spoken to him since her school days with regret. Praying he would reach one of their healers in time, she watched as Sorin grabbed his friend, activated the portkey, and they were gone in a flash of white light, Viktor's face one of denial. The necklace did not remain behind thankfully, charmed to follow the magical travelers so no one could use it to track their jump location. A smart spell there - probably Zabini's work.

She turned back to the fight in time to see Markham hit. He froze up like he'd been attacked with a _Petrificus Totalus_, only his coloring was all wrong – red skin, instead of blue. Must be another Unmentionable, she thought and countered with a _Finite Incantatum_, hoping it would work. His limbs loosened just as he was a fraction from the ground and Kenny caught himself. "Thanks!" he shouted over the explosions around them, and in a second was back in the fight.

There was a scream of the blackest fury Hermione had ever heard a few seconds later, and a backlash of violent power burst across the field and slammed everyone onto their arses, including the enemy across the twenty or so meters separating their lines. When Hermione regained her knees, it was to find Jeremy holding Will in his arms, the big blond bleeding from a head wound and clearly unconscious. A menacing crimson aura surrounded Jeremy, and he hissed in fury at the enemy, cradling his lover in his arms, quickly backing away.

Hermione was about to jet across to him – she couldn't afford to lose either man, as they were power fighters and invaluable members of the team – when there was a swirl of color behind Jeremy, followed by the form of Su Li appearing in the middle of the field seemingly from nowhere. She cast an _Avada_ quickly into the fray, and grabbed a hold of Stretton's arm, turning once to look at Hermione. Her eyes were asking permission to take the two men and go.

Taking one last look at Will, noting he was paling and the stream of blood dripping off his neck, Hermione made a snap judgment. She nodded once, giving Su consent to take them, and without a word and in another blurring of the air, the three were simply gone – vanished, as if by Apparition, but without the crack of thunder that announced the exit. If she survived this fight, Hermione was going to ask Su how in the hell she'd just done that. It was probably a Vampire power of some kind, but it was certainly a handy escape method.

Blaise's Patronus – a Fox as well, much to her surprise – appeared to let Hermione know that he and his group had flown to safety, and then it, too, disappeared. On its heels came Nott's dog Patronus with a similar message.

That just left Malfoy, Snape and Caldwallader. What was taking those three so long?

It was time to shore up in preparation for the last Patronus' arrival. They were close to having fulfilled their duty to cover for the escape, and they were down too many to effectively hold off the enemy any longer. She skivved sidways, firing curses and hexes as she went, until from her peripheral vision, she found herself aligned with Charlie. "Fay's out," she informed him, shooting off another Stunning Spell. "Time to go. Cover me for a sec."

The ginger-head bobbed in understanding and set off three curses in three different directions, hitting another Death Eater and knocking him down. It bought her some time. Hermione turned over her shoulder and began shouting the orders for retreat. To her surprise, the line had expanded somewhat when she hadn't been paying attention; Katie Bell, the Carrow twins and Stephen Cornfoot had obviously decided to stay behind despite orders to the contrary, to help with the retreat – _thank Godric!_ They'd moved into the safety of the second line, filling in much needed support for those already lost, and the four of them were giving holy hell.

"Markham!"

The dark haired man with the endearing Muggle mohawk hunched his way through the grass to her side. "Captain?"

She ducked a curse, felt it skim the back of her hair – too close! "Retreat towards the camp with Warrington and the Patil twins, four man cover formation. Do you know what that is?"

Markham shook his head. "Is it like two men cover, two men retreat?"

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. Three meters at a time. You and Pavarti, Warrington and Padma team up. Go now."

Kenny got on hands and knees and scuttled over to the left, where the three other members in question were holding their own barely. He gave the orders and Hermione watched them begin their withdrawal. She turned to Katie's group. There was no time to explain. Summoning her Patronus while Charlie covered again for her, Hermione sent out the white, formless cloud wisp – no time to perfect its form right now, she thought – and explained to Katie as she had for Kenny, quickly sending the thing off in the woman's direction.

Turning back to the fight, she shot off an un-aimed _Stupefy_, _Avada_, _Flippendo_, and _Everte Stratum_, hoping Katie got her message and would take charge of her side. There was no time left to supervise, as the Death Eaters received five fresh reinforcements just then. She looked across the grass and noted they were facing off against overwhelming odds – close to thirty of the enemy to their ten. They were too out in the open; they needed shelter and small spaces to duck and hide behind now. The remnants of the camp – she could see many of the tents still standing, having been simply abandoned – would serve the cover they needed.

The wind picked up then, and brought with it the scent of sulfur and smoke from various spell blasts… and an idea came to Hermione in a spark of inspiration. She stared at the waving grass before her, judging its dryness. It had only recently rained a little. Maybe it wasn't enough to saturate the greenery quite yet. At least, she hoped.

"Cast a _Protego_ around yourself and get ready to run for it," she commanded Charlie, and looked over both shoulders to see where the others were. Katie's group was far enough away now, and Markham's group was closest to the camp. It was more than enough space.

Pointing her wand out before her, she concentrated and let loose a steaming line of _Incendio_ that cut a path from right to left, at least ten meters wide. Flames roared from the end of her wand and struck the grasslands in a flare of brilliant orange, red and golden heat – smacking right into the front lines of the advancing Death Eaters, catching an unlucky few unprepared. Chaos ensued as black woolen robes caught on fire and burned up the wizards inside, roasting their flesh to the tune of panicked screams. Hermione then cast a gently pushing air spell next, placing its strength just a smidge behind the line of fire, encouraging the hungry inferno to billow outwards and eat up the land before it. The firestorm burned hot and fast, consuming a path of careless destruction in a wall of flame that stood almost two meters high.

It would take all of the Death Eater's combined strengths to put this one out.

Weasely laughed, made some comment that ended in, 'fucking brilliant!' and grabbed her arm. Hermione was hauled after him as the two ran as fast as their lungs would allow back towards the camp, seeking a clear space to gather with the remainder of their people to port out of there on Charlie's key.

Snape's Patronus arrived just as they hit the demarcation line. The giant, black-grey cobra flared its hood and informed them that they had left, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. The group gathered in front of what used to be the main pavilion, but was now nothing more than a squashed and dried section of pasture land. Hermione noted right away the casualties. Hestia Carrow wasn't there, and her sister, Flora, had tears stream down her angry, red cheeks. She was clearly in shock, her eyes glazed over, her body movements uncaring. There was no need to ask what had happened. Warrington was carrying a limp Padma over his shoulder, fireman's style. "Need a healer," he loudly proclaimed over the roar of the flames. Even from this distance, the sound was deafening. "Got hit with a nasty Steam Hex that burned her face and hands badly. We gotta get her help pronto."

Charlie let Hermione's arm go to reach into his robes. He was withdrawing what looked like a pocket watch with a very long chain. "Everyone grab hold," he commanded, and a bunch of desperate, dirty hands hooked on to the chain.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spied movement. Instinctually, she shoved Charlie to the side, stepping into the space he had vacated. When the spell hit, she was bathed in blue light, and a sharp, slicing sensation lit up her lower back and right side, digging in deep and tearing open her flesh. She screamed in acute pain and her legs gave out. Falling unceremoniously to the ground, her spine convulsed as fire erupted from the wound. Every nerve in her body shrieked in anguish.

There was movement around her, but she couldn't see through the torturous pain that blinded her sight. There was surprised screaming and someone was shouting her last name. A bright white light lit off behind her eyelids, and then there was nothing but the call of the darkness as her spine split in two.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**Unknown Location**_

**Unknown Date**

It was so cold. Hermione's bones felt frozen to their marrow.

It was dark - too dark to see.

Her back ached, her insides felt like she'd been kicked one too many times by someone with a size twelve steel-toed boot, and her head throbbed. She opened her mouth, tried to force her tongue to work, her vocal chords to register, to ask where she was and what had happened, but only a moan escaped her lips.

A cool cloth was pressed to her forehead, a warm hand touched her hair, gently smoothed it away from her face. A deep, masculine voice shushed her.

Consciousness faded.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**Unknown Location**_

**Unknown Date**

Daylight caressed her skin, comforting in its warmth.

Hermione pried her dry eyelids open, blinked back the sting. She tried to focus, but everything remained fuzzy.

Up, had to get up!

"Stay down," the stranger sitting nearby instructed her. His voice was somewhat familiar, but the memory eluded her. "You're seriously injured."

No, had to sit up. Had to find the others!

Breathing hurt. Gods, her spine felt on fire! Something foul to both smell and taste was poured down her throat and she nearly gagged, sputtering and choking on its noxiousness. A healing potion? It tasted like one.

A strong hand pressed against her shoulder, forcing her back once more. "Sleep."

Too tired to fight, she slipped back into the blackness of semi-death.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**A Cottage (unknown location)**_

**Unknown Date**

The covers were scarlet red. Scarlet red – like Jason Swann's arterial blood had been, splashed across Kenny Markham's cheek.

That was the first thing Hermione noticed when she woke up.

She moved slowly, all of her muscles cramping from the effort. By the time she'd gotten into a kneeling position, facing the headboard of the full-sized bed, she realized she had no clothes on. Gingerly moving, she wrapped the blankets around her nude form, and turned about to take in her surroundings.

It was a cozy, single-floor cottage, completely open, with no walls to block sight of the small kitchen, the bedroom, or the dining and living spaces. There were only three doors – one of which she assumed by its position relative to the rest of the house was the bathroom, one the way out, and one a storage space or basement entry. Sheer curtains covered the arched windows, which circled the room on one whole side of the perfectly round space. Sunlight filtered through the ivory fabric.

She was alone.

It took her four tries to get to her feet, two more to stay standing up, and a series of falls to her hands and knees to get her to the loo. She shut and locked the door behind her, dropped the sheets and used the toilet. When she'd finished, she washed her hands in the sink, noting that Malfoy's serpent ring was still firmly on her right hand.

Weird. Why leave the ring but take everything else? She brought the jewelry to her face. "Couldn't get you off, maybe?" she whispered, her throat raw and painful.

One emerald eye closed and quickly reopened.

Hermione gasped in astonishment. Had the thing just _winked_ at her? What the hell kind of ring was this anyway?

Whatever it was, clearly, it wasn't a danger to her. She'd been wearing it continuously, without break, since she'd retrieved it after it had bitten McLaggen, and it hadn't hurt her. When she had more energy, she'd have to remember to ask Malfoy about his family's heirloom.

_Malfoy..._

Where was he? Where were the others? She knew it hadn't been him to take care of her while she'd been out; the voice that had spoken to her so gently wasn't his. And she knew she wasn't in camp, because this was no tent, but a house of some kind. So, where was she?

She suddenly felt very feverish. Grabbing a hand towel from the rack behind her, Hermione wet it and proceeded to wash up. She felt sticky, overheated and crusted from dried sweat. Glancing up, she caught sight of her face in the mirror and paused. Her bangs were longer (just a tad, maybe half an inch or so, but definitely longer), and she looked rail thin, as if she'd lost at least a stone's worth of fat (not that she'd had much to begin with). How long had she been unconscious? If she wasn't at camp, did that mean that the enemy had her? Did the others think her dead?

Oh, gods, what if they _did?_

Leaning over the sink, she forced herself to calm. Panicking would not help. She needed a plan.

First things first, clean up, take stock of her health and get some food in her. First order of business was always survival. Nothing else mattered if she was too sick to walk out of here on her own. Second, find out where she was. Third, find out who had saved her. Fourth, find out the date. Last, find her group and rejoin them, but only if it was safe to do so.

She turned to the shower, cranked up the spray and stepped in, determined to get the grime and sweat off, and to check her limbs and body for damage. She soaped down with some difficulty, but by the time she was done, she felt rather refreshed.

After, toweling off, she rechecked the scar on her back, standing on tiptoe and looking into the small mirror above the basin once more. It began at the middle of her lower sway, just above her bum, and ran all the way around to just under her right breast. It was a thin, jagged line, but appeared to be healing well, the skin dark pink. It would eventually white out over time, she knew, but never fully disappear.

Pressing on the base of the damage, she understood now why her back had hurt so badly; the wound had penetrated into her spinal cavity, into the bundle of nerves at her lower hind. A slashing spell of some sort, then, meant to rend right through vital organs, only she'd turned at the last minute and took the brunt on her back and side, instead of the front of her torso. If she hadn't, she'd be dead right now.

_Lucky ducky_, she thought to herself.

She toweled her hair as best as she could, and found a comb in the medicine cabinet to untangle the snarls. It was painful to get her arms up that high, but she forced herself to stretch those ill-used muscles. Menial tasks such as this wouldn't do permanent damage, but continuing the status quo of non-use might.

After that, she found some toothpaste and used her finger to brush her teeth with it, letting it swish in her mouth for more than a minute to get rid of the foul taste that had been festering across her tongue (probably from those nasty healing potions). She spit and rinsed, then gathered up the sheets and blankets from the floor and wrapped them about herself once more to keep in the warmth that the shower had sunk into her bones.

When she made her way back towards the bed, she found her clothes neatly laundered, mended and folded across the pillow. Whomever had saved her had been here while she'd been in the bathroom, but wasn't here now, she noted while looking about. She redressed and lay the discarded bedding across the rumpled mattress, noting as an afterthought that her shoes hadn't been included, nor her outer robe. Her wand was nowhere to be seen, either. She didn't need a bigger neon sign in the sky to tell her that her "host" (more likely, captor) didn't want her going anywhere soon.

Curious.

Looking about, she found a covered bowl on the table, and a freshly poured glass of water waiting for her. The smell of chicken greeted her nose as she neared and lifted the cover of the main dish. Steaming chicken broth.

There was no way to determine if the food was poisoned or drugged, unfortunately, but she assumed it wouldn't be given what her host had done for her thus far. Why provide her clothing if he was just going to drug her again? And why save her at all if death was the ultimate intention? No, she was quite sure that the meal was probably safe. She sat stiffly and dug in as best as she could, finishing every bite and downing the contents of the glass. Still, she was hungry for more. Her starved body needed to eat.

"Not so much at first," that same familiar voice from her delirium came from behind her. Hermione stiffened, recognizing it in a heartbeat now that she had her wits back. "You haven't eaten solid food in a little over four weeks. You'll make yourself sick."

A month!

Godric, what had he done to her in all that time she'd been passed out, under his mercy?

She swallowed three times and tried to hide the trembling in her fingers by clasping them in her lap before finding her voice. When it came out, it was husky from disuse. "Why save me?"

He was silent, but she felt the weight of his stare on her, felt the crushing presence of his nearness in her chest. Terror rose up her backbone to lodge coldly in the back of her skull. What would he do next? Was this all a part of some sick revenge? Or perhaps he intended on finishing what he'd started with her back at The Madam's House?

"Do you want more soup?" Cormac gently offered, ignoring her question.

She shook her head. Right then, her stomach was rioting too much. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to keep down what she'd just eaten.

She heard a whisper of a spell cast, and felt the tingle of his magic caress past her as the bowl, spoon and glass were whisked away to the kitchen sink nearby, where they were magically cleaned and then put themselves away back in the cupboards above.

"Then try to rest. You're going to need your strength."

She heard his booted feet move across the floor towards the front door and wondered if he left it unlocked or not.

"Don't try to escape, Granger," he warned. "The wards around this place will kill anyone in or out who doesn't have the counter-spell. That's not a fake threat, either. Just stay here and sleep to recover. You'll get your answers soon enough."

She spun in her chair, ignoring the pain as she heard the door unlock. "Cor, wait!" He paused on the threshold, keeping his back to her. "Please, whatever is going on… just let me go." She knew what his answer would be, but still she had to try. There had seemed a glimmer of hope for Cormac McLaggen as he'd lain on the floor in Phaedra's bedroom and cried the loss of his innocence under her hand. Perhaps she could reach him again.

The man who had taken away her virtue, who had physically hurt her several times and had left her emotionally wounded at every opportunity, gave a deep, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping. "As soon as it's safe, you'll have your freedom, Hermione. They're hunting for you right now, though. It's too dangerous to let you out yet."

How could it be dangerous if her friends were looking for her? That made no sense. "Malfoy and the others won't hurt me," she insisted.

He turned then, and she bit back a gasp. The left side of Cormac's face was mostly scar tissue. The healing spell she'd cast had done an adequate job of re-growing skin, but it would never be smooth, never look normal. His beautiful face had been ruined on the left cheek and jaw, and the edge of his lips was damaged as well. But it was his eyes – not his scars – that affected her the most. His tawny-gold orbs were filled with shadow and sadness. Gone was the arrogance, the cruelty. In its place was simply regret and acceptance of death.

"Not Malfoy. Mort," he explained. "He's after you, and he's thrown everything he has into finding you since the attack on your camp. If he does…" He paused, looked down. "I can't let him have you. You're going to have to stay here for the time being." He resignedly glanced back at her. "Rest for now. If you want more soup, it's on the cauldron in the hearth. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon."

Turning, with a wave of his wand and an unspoken incantation, Cormac walked out, shutting the door after him, leaving Hermione more confused than ever.

McLaggen had saved her. He'd healed her. He was helping her.

Why? What did the bastard want?

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Friday, October 13, 2000 (night)**

Blaise monitored his best friend's intense study of the map of the United Kingdom for the hundredth time. There were 'X' marks all over the thing, indicating places they had gone looking for Granger and had come home empty-handed. Malfoy was relentless in his search for her, refusing to give up, insisting that she still lived.

The dreams – Potter's portents - he was seeing them now, Draco had confessed in private. In them, the Boy-Who-Lived-On was telling him that Hermione was not yet a ghost. Somehow, the dark-haired wizard trapped under Voldemort's will knew this to be true, and he was reaching out, trying to get Draco Malfoy – his onetime bitterest rival – to help find her and keep her safe.

And Lord Mort knew what Potter was doing but couldn't stop him. Instead, he'd stepped up his own plans in an effort to flush his enemies out.

After their encampment at Kirkwall had fallen, they'd moved to this safe location in Ireland, reestablished the group's routine, grieved and recovered. The next week, Mort's Death Eaters entered every major city on the islands and set about systematically killing anyone unwilling to take the Dark Mark. A few days after that, Viktor Krum (who had apparently taken a hit meant for Granger in battle, but had reached Jules – a damned good healer - in time) and his pal, Sorin Arcos, met with Snape in secret. They disappeared the very next night. Severus informed them all the following morning that he had sent the two on to penetrate The Fortress in secret along with Cadwallader, in the hopes that their original plan of poisoning as many high ranking Death Eaters and Trackers as possible would succeed. Blaise knew from his former Potions professor's dark eyes, however, that the man held very little hope for any of the three to accomplish that goal, much less survive. They'd volunteered, however, and after the devastation left from the attack, coupled with Mort's push to cut them off from cities and supplies, they'd had no choice but to try any desperate plan in an effort to buy them time to recuperate. Hitting the enemy at its heart, decimating its numbers, would strike a blow and help to bolster the flagging morale of resistance fighters everywhere – especially those in the camp.

They'd lost at lot in Kirkwall: Jason Swann, Alin Istok, Hestia Carrow, and Padma Patil had died. The seriously injured included Willem Bradley (who had just recently regained full motor control of his right side after a devastating curse to the head), Katie Bell (whose left leg now limped, from a shattered hip that couldn't be fully repaired because they had no Skele-Grow available), Daphne Greengrass (who'd been struck in the back of the skull with a _Stupefy_ spell while in her tent with her sister, clearly to get her out of the way for the kidnapping). And all the while, there lurked the inescapable, debilitating knowledge that no bodies had been recovered for Megan Jones, Oliver Wood, Adrian Pucey, Astoria Greengrass, or Hermione Granger.

The mental scars were perhaps the harder handicap to fix, and Blaise wasn't necessarily equipped to serve out an endless stream of compassion and sympathy; that had been Granger's job. Of the four main leads in this group, only Hermione was truly "touchy-feely" enough to offer adequate comfort to those in need. She'd been this group's mother figure, and right now, the men and women in camp - her children, in effect - they _desperately_ needed her. Kenny was still having night terrors reliving Swann's death, Jeremy had hardly slept much while Will had been down and afterwards restlessly paced about in endless frustration at his mate's continued refusal to acknowledge him, Theo and his father had a blazing row over letting Cadwallader go to The Fortress in light of Granger's proclamation on the issue (Blaise believed it to be a deeper issue than that which was tearing them apart – like the fact that Snape had known he was Theo's father, but had never openly acknowledged him), Penelope openly cried now in self-induced blame for failing the Captain (which was hurting Neville), Fay and Pansy worried over Daphne (who was such a fragile thing), and Malfoy... His best friend was tearing himself up inside and out for having agreed to leave her the day of the attack. What could Blaise do or say to any of them to give them some measure of peace? What they needed was a hug, a shoulder to cry on and a soothing word of advice. All someone like him could give was an ear, a hand up off the floor, and a stiff drink.

If not for that bastard who betrayed them…

Of the five absentee bodies, there was only one Blaise knew was intentional. Their spy – Oliver Wood – had been the one to kill Rickett, to take Astoria, and to set off Mort's call sign in the sky, he was almost positive. Blaise figured the man had been a true Sex-Warlock, as they'd suspected (which was why he'd been so hot after Fay while in camp, helplessly drawn to her powers). And he didn't believe Oliver had been someone else masquerading around in his face; he thought the Wood that had been in camp with them was the same from their school days.

It seemed almost impossible, he knew, as Wood had been a Gryffindor. He could believe a Slytherin or Ravenclaw turning to the dark side, but a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff? The idea was almost laughable.

Then again, that arrogant prick, McLaggen, had been from that House, too, and he was Mort's Number One Tracker.

For not the first time since considering Wood as one of his prime suspects, Blaise's head spun the facts about, but could come up with no answers. He was missing some part of that equation. It just didn't fit that two highly regarded Gryffindors – men the Sorting Hat felt worthy of being of the same character as magicians like Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger - would turn to the turbo-charged personification of Voldemort to offer up their services.

"Steam's rising in the room, but the sun is setting, darlings. Time to put down your thinking caps and let your minds rest for the day," Pansy teased, walking between the two men. She gently took a hand of both and tugged, a coy smile on her face. "Come on, my witches have cooked up a feast for all you hard-working wizards."

Malfoy's face hardened, but Blaise put a hand on his arm to caution him not to bark at Parkinson. The woman was, after all, only trying to help them all stay sane. She'd taken over the duties of 'Head Girl' in Granger's absence, and worked daily with Dunbar and Clearwater to get the encampment into some semblance of order. Cooking and supply runs were rotated into the duty roster schedule, now that Adrian was gone, so everyone was given a chance to prepare the meals, not just one person. It was a good solution, and it helped to keep the group together, teaching them to behave as a team, instead of separate entities. That had been Pans' brilliant idea, and so far, it had been doing wonders to pull everyone in, making them feel a part of something bigger and more important again.

Sure, Parkinson wasn't a doppleganger for Hermione's softer touch, but she was a good pinch-hitter, as the Americans liked to say.

Drake marginally relaxed and nodded in silent agreement to go along with Parkinson's surprise without fuss, allowing her to lead him out of the War Tent (their new official place for Heads meetings and strategizing) and into the Main Pavilion.

The trio was blasted in the face as soon as they entered by the mouth-watering scent of good, home-cooked food. There was a single table now, instead of two, and it had been magically-altered to be round with a hollow center, with a single split on one side to allow movement between the outside of the circle into the center for serving food. The tent itself had been enchanted to expand width-wise to accommodate the change. Magical, multi-colored globes floated at the top of the tent ceiling, bathing the interior in bright, cheerful pastel colors, and everyone was pretty much already gathered for the feast (the exceptions being the three who volunteered for watch duty – Anica, Parvati, and Tracey).

Instinctively, Blaise's eyes swept the room, taking in as much as possible, looking for potential trouble.

Neville and Penelope were sitting next to each other, holding hands, heads bent in quiet conversation. Whatever they were discussing seemed to be mutually agreed upon, as Clearwater was nodding and looked more at ease today than she had for the last four weeks. He was glad for that, for they were one of a few couples he was actually rooting for to make it through this gods-awful war.

On the other side of them, Jeremy was sitting next to Su, talking amicably, ignoring the dark looks Will threw them from the opposite side of the room (he knew Stretton was fully aware of his mate's every move by now and he wasn't oblivious to Bradley's actions, but he was clearly disregarding him just then). That scenario – the obvious jealousy reflected in the tall blond's eyes as he watched his best friend flirting with the gorgeous Asian Vampiress - had the potential for a huge blow-up. Blaise would watch it and step in again, if necessary.

Fay and Charlie were lovey-dovey to the extreme, so into each other that no one else in the room seemed to exist for either of them as they sat quietly talking, she in his lap, he feeding her choice morsels off his plate with his fingers. No way would Blaise ever let himself become so whipped, he thought with a grin. Still, it was nice to see such care between people. It gave hope to this group of misfits.

There were new couples as well, the last few weeks of heartache and hard work bringing people together. Most coupling seemed to be about reaffirming life and having something – someone – to hold on to in these dark times. Some of those relationships might actually exist after the war had ended, too, he thought as he looked about. There was Jules and Terry, Theo and Daphne, Stephen and Anna. In addition, Warrington and Markham were busy making the rounds with various ladies (all flirty, and seemingly okay with the non-serious nature of their arrangements), many of whom were sitting near the guys now, laughing, drinking and talking in raucous enjoyment of each other.

He caught all of that in seconds, and then was swept off towards some empty places at the table by Pansy. Malfoy looked annoyed with being manhandled, but he brooded in silence, as usual. Blaise was determined to have a good time, feeling the need to unwind and relax, grabbing at any respite to do so, so he gripped Pans' hand back and gave her fingers a squeeze in mute thanks for her efforts. To his surprise, he felt his hand squeezed back twice in the signal for, 'You're welcome.'

As the trio sat, plates of scrumptious looking food were placed before him. Pansy hadn't been kidding – it was most definitely a feast, compared to what they'd been living off of for the last few weeks! There was roasted duck (freshly caught from the park's natural abundance of wintering birds around the lake outside), stuffing had been made from freshly baked bread that had been dried out (slices of apples – which were now in season on some of the trees outside – and walnuts and raisins from the bags of trail mix they'd swiped from their last supply raid had been added for extra flavor), a corn, carrot and peas mix for veg, and baked potato wedges cut with onions and pepper-salted. Cups of dark red wine were placed before them as well. They were served by fiery-tempered Morag MacDougal (who had magicked her hair purple-black for fun), and her shy former Housemate, the redheaded Marietta Edgecombe.

"Thanks!" Pansy beamed at her girls. "It looks wonderful."

"Iffin' ya need anyt'ing, you'll be lettin' me know, Lady," Morag drawled in her thick Scottish accent, then moved away back towards the food prep area of the tent.

The women who had once served under Parkinson at The Madam's House had taken to calling her 'Lady Pansy' over the last month, in deference to her former position. To Blaise's amazement, these women – and even the three men rescued from that pit of horrors – continued to regard their former overseer with the highest respect and submitted to her orders without question. Every single one of them owed their lives to this strong-willed bitch sitting next to him; she'd engendered their loyalty as much as they had won hers over the months and years they'd been working together.

Blaise immediately started eating, utterly famished. He'd skipped both breakfast and lunch to Apparate over to Leicester on the main island to check out one of the locations Drake had wanted to look for Granger; it had turned out a dead end, like all the rest so far. He'd only gotten back into camp an hour or so ago, in fact.

As he chewed, he made appreciative noises. When he'd cleared his palette, he looked over at the woman sitting at his side. She was attentively cutting her duck into small pieces. "I have to admit, Pans - you and your ladies have outdone yourself. This is _delicious._"

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "More delicious than Maxine was the other night?"

Blinking in surprise, Blaise smirked. "Delicious in a different way."

She turned her head towards Drake then. "I had an idea for finding Granger and Greengrass both."

Malfoy put his fork down, swallowed, took a drink of his wine and indicated with a nod of her head that she should continue.

Setting aside her fork and knife, she daintily wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin. "I was wondering just this afternoon how it was that Hermione managed to located Astoria and Fay at The Madam's House. I asked Theo, and he said he hadn't known anything about their location until Granger showed up and recruited him for the rescue mission. That means she had to have used magic, right?"

Blaise felt all the air escape his lungs in an instant. Of course! She'd used two spells to exactly pinpoint the women's location, because _Point Me_ could only guide a person onwards so long as they walked to the location; it couldn't show them on a map where to find someone lost.

"_Memorus Corpus_ and _Revelio Corpus_," he recited the spells from memory, looking over at his best friend, noting the excited flush across Draco's cheeks. It could work if they could find something of Granger's that had been touched and still retained some sort of magical energy from her that hadn't dissipated over time. But did they have anything of hers left from the hasty escape at Kirkwall? No one had bothered to go to her tent and pack it, as far as he knew, and her Bag of Holding with the majority of her possessions was on her person at the time of the attack, as she never went anywhere without it. He spoke these worries out loud.

The three sat in silence, contemplating the dilemma. Once more, Pansy surprised him with her quick mind. "That _Tales of Beedle The Bard_ book she'd been reading while at The Madam's House. It had been a portkey, too. I kept it after that jump to Bristol. I thought I'd crack it open someday and give it a go, since it seemed to have fascinated Granger."

Blaise raised an eyebrow to that. "Since when do you _like _reading?"

With a sigh of disgust, Pansy tsk'd at him. "I may not have enjoyed the enforced homework assignments back in school, Zabini, but I've always read for pleasure or my own edification on subjects that fascinated me when there was time." She disdainfully sniffed and turned her nose up at him. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to notice a woman using her brains. The parts you focus on are closer to the center of the body."

She was right, the only exception to date being the Captain. He'd definitely taken notice of her mind, not just her body and pretty face. It had been her cleverness and wit that had originally attracted him to her, not just her bravado. Her wasn't about to admit such a thing aloud, however, especially in the present company.

"In any case, I can go get it from my tent after dinner and we can try the spells then," she offered. When Malfoy looked to argue and stand, it was obvious he intended on suing for immediate action instead. Pansy cut him off quickly, placing a hand on his forearm to stall him. "Eat first. You don't want to insult the women who worked so hard just to give you this meal. Hours of thought and prep and sweat went into it, Drake."

Ooh, Parkinson had just pulled a very crafty 'Slytherin' on his friend.

Blaise never considered Draco a man who could be moved by such a seemingly trifling thing as guilt, but apparently, it was true that it was a many-splendored thing. It seemed Granger's disappearance had somehow softened his best friend, made him less likely to snap at anyone, for fear of losing them, too. Or maybe it was just Pansy's influence. A soft touch here or there…

He growled at that thought, realizing it was ridiculous. Drake _would_ _not_ cheat on Granger with Pansy. The man was faithful…

_Except for that one time with Astoria. _

He slung back his wine cup, downing it in a single pull, choking back his annoyance. No, there was no way Malfoy was fucking around on Hermione. Pansy wasn't the girl for his friend, and all three of them knew it. She had too much of a mouth on her and was too slippery smart for Drake to tolerate long-term.

Blaise's eyes did something then, unconsciously, that he hadn't been expecting: they glanced down to look at Parkinson's lips, following the soft, glossy curves. Even in the midst of war, Pansy still found the time to dress herself up, he noted. He knew from weeks of observation that her skin was never chapped, her hair always combed, she smelled clean and daily wore a different fragrance. Apparently, what she'd taken with her from The Madam's House had been her stash of girly products – including a bathtub, which she'd shrunk down and put in a Bag of Holding (Granger's clever idea, she'd given credit).

His eyes roamed downward over her form. Her lacy, sexy clothes had been exchanged for those better suited to a camp's life and the winter's chill (woolen robes and jumpers, Muggle jeans or hiking pants, women's knee-high leather combat-style boots), but of course, all had been magicked to be form-fitting and quite flattering. For practical purposes, she'd ditched all of her jewelry except for a pair of vibrantly lavender amethyst heart-shaped stud earrings, and an oval-shaped pinky ring of the same gem type, which she claimed granted her clarity of thought (personally, Blaise thought she wore them simply to remind herself that she wasn't as poor as a church mouse, having come from a wealthy background pre-war). Overall, she was a rather lovely woman, he had to admit. Her face had grown out of most of its baby fat, leaving behind more defined angles, a longer nose shape, dark almond eyes, and he could see the stunning beauty she would be in another two or three years taking form. If only she'd let her hair grow longer, it might make her look less sharp, more feminine.

As if feeling the weight of his stare, Pansy slowly turned her head. "See something you like?" she teased, arching an eyebrow, a sass of a smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

Blaise refocused on his meal, biting back the sarcastic comment that jumped unbidden to his thoughts. No matter how pretty she may be, there was something about Parkinson that had always made him edgy, made him want to go on the attack and verbally spar with her, made him seething angry at times, to the point where he wanted to strangle her...

He stopped, realizing who he sounded like in that instant.

_Holy. Shite._

He was mirroring Malfoy's antagonism of Granger from their school years, wasn't he? And Blaise knew the real reason behind such childish aggression and hostility: because Drake had secretly been attracted to Gryffindor's Princess from the get-go, despite the dictates of his upbringing. He'd fought with the bushy-haired bookworm because he'd wanted her.

Blaise shoved a bite of roast duck into his mouth and chewed, swallowed, repeated several more times, his mind having gone completely, utterly blank for the first time ever. Before he realized it, his plate was clear. When Morag had returned to bring him a slice of cinnamon cake and coffee, he was slowly bleeding out of the shock of his revelation.

As he drained the last of his caffeine-laced drink of death and finished off his pudding, he realized that his hands had begun to shake. Quickly, he put his fork down and clenched his fists in his lap.

"You all right?"

He blinked, looked over at Malfoy, realized the man had been speaking to him for a few minutes, and he hadn't heard a fucking word. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

Drake threw him a concerned frown. "I asked if you're good?"

"You look like a storm cloud in the face," Pansy remarked, then threw him a mocking smirk. "Not that you don't normally look at the world with some amount of irritation, that is."

He frowned. She was insulting him again.

Something in his chest bloomed in true ire for the first time since Kirkwall. He shot to his feet, angry. "I'm fine." He narrowed his eyes at Parkinson. "And you should find a better use for that mouth of yours. Someday, it's going to get you fucked hard, dove." With that, he turned on his heel and hurried to his tent, barely noting the scenery or occasional passers-by. None of his roomies were around, so he threw himself down on his cot, hanging his boots off the end and put his hands over his face.

This could not be happening. It absolutely _could not_. There was simply no way he- No, the idea was _absurd_. He'd hated Slytherin's former Bitch Queen from practically the first day they'd met back in first year at school. She'd always got on his last peck with her brazen attitude and her impertinent tongue…

He groaned and pressed a hand to the front of his now-bulging trousers, as a visual of Pansy working his cock over with that sweet, pink tongue of hers improvised in his brain.

_Fuck a doodle do_, he thought using another Jeremy-ism. He really did want her, didn't he? And not just for her body. From that clever brain of hers to that succulent set of lips to the tips of those pretty fingernails to those long, mouth-watering legs, he wanted the whole package. He wanted to undress her slow and suck on her nipples, and hear her moan and come apart in his arms, and then he wanted her to beg him before he made love to her. And he would – for hours and hours. He'd make her forget their past, all the bad, so they could be free to completely drown in each other. He wanted to do that over and over again to her, too, until the end of his gods damned life if he could prolong such pleasure.

Could he really be in love with Pansy Parkinson, of all people?

The idea was bizarre, incongruous, but... yeah, it was there, unrecognizable until now and wholly undeniable.

Unobtainable, was more like it. She couldn't stand him. She had an obvious attraction to Drake. He'd just said something really vitriolic to her that might even border on unforgivable. The chances of wooing her successfully were pretty slim to none, given what a complete fuckwad he'd been to her over the years.

Still, there was a chance.

The odds were practically nil, but if there was one thing Blaise Zabini was, it was a gambling man. And he was bloody good at winning, too - especially when he cheated.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

Pansy watched Zabini stomp from the tent in a tissy fit and shook her head. She'd never figure him out. At times, she felt herself beginning to understand him, actually think there might be something to seriously consider there, but then he'd go and do something idiotic like just then, and her whole perception would change back. He was an ocean of flowing, passionate emotions, more so than any man she'd ever met, quickly switching between hot, warm, tepid, and cold. He confused her, infuriated her, disgusted her, and made her wet all at the same time.

That last she couldn't help. She'd accidentally walked in on him during one of his frequent sex sessions with Maxine, her tentmate, a week after the Kirkwall incident, and in those few heart-stopping seconds – _oh, my gods!_ She'd had a good, long look at what lay under Zabini's clothes for the first time as he'd plunged into the flirty blonde's extremely eager, ecstasy-laded body. Their moans had been loud and lusty, ringing in her ears, especially O'Flaherty, who had been clearly enjoying the size and strength and technique at Blaise's command. Neither had seen her, thankfully, as she'd quietly turned around and left before she could be noticed, but she'd spent days later arguing with herself about being attracted to him as a result. After one glorious, self-induced orgasm in her cot late one night (with the curtains drawn and the area _Silencio_'d by her wand), with him as her fantasy man, she realized it was silly for her to deny the fascination she had for the man any longer, as it had only made her act like either a complete ninny or a nasty bitch around him during normal daylight hours.

So, when she had a chance, she masturbated to ideas of Blaise looming over her and bringing her again and again, tamping down on the envy and jealousy of her memories by imagining herself in Maxine's place instead. She figured that eventually, like all her fleeting interests, she'd get him out of her mind when she'd worked through the fantasy enough times.

Until then, however, she reminded herself that she still had to work with him. And that meant pulling herself together while in his presence.

Since they'd moved to their new location, and since Granger's disappearance, she'd been thrust back into the unwanted role of being the alpha female in camp (Clearwater definitely didn't want it, and there wasn't anyone else willing to step up to the plate). She met that challenge by falling into the niche of meal planning and supplies (since Pucey was still missing, and considered dead most likely), working on putting together the duty roster to rotate out responsibilities (so that none of "her people" got taken advantage of in the kitchen, and so they'd get in some real scout and combat training). That meant she was around Blaise quite often. Being in his presence day after day was an exercise in discipline, but she felt confident that she could overcome her attraction to the man given time.

Besides, her people were counting on her to take their best interests to the table every time there was a negotiation with the man about schedules. She couldn't afford to let sex dictate her wits and overtake common sense.

In a way, she was still very much accountable for those she'd taken out of The Madam's House, despite wanting to shuck that duty the second she'd made the break to freedom with the rest. Truthfully, she was tired of the unwanted responsibility that was continually thrust upon her. But Pansy was a pragmatist, and understood that she was still needed to play the role of the "overprotective parent" for a while longer. Most of her girls were emotionally broken (the three men had fared much better from their captivity, amazingly), and they needed to develop self-confidence. Pansy helped them along that path by trying to integrate them into the full team's responsibilities through the scheduling, and encouraging them to take initiative - as they had with tonight's dinner, much to her pleasant surprise. It was taxing work, but she knew it would pay off in time. And someday, she could finally be free to experience her own life, too.

"He didn't mean it."

She glanced over at Drake, who was lifting his mug to take a swig. His grey eyes met hers and measured her response. The man may have been quietly reflective and coldly aloof in general, but he had always looked out for her emotional well-being in small, but significant ways, even during those dark times of sixth and seventh year, when he'd been preoccupied with Voldemort's involvement in his life – which is what made it hard for her to let go of him.

She'd seen him and Granger back at the Kirkwall camp just before the fighting started, having turned about to locate Fay in the confusion. The way they'd looked at each other, the passionate kiss they'd shared, their reluctance to part… it was clear now that there was no way she was ever going to win his affections, even if it turned out that the woman he treasured with every fiber of his being was dead. Draco Malfoy's heart belonged to Hermione Granger alone, and Pansy knew her ex-boyfriend well enough to know that he was the type to give his love only once and forever.

If only he wasn't so damned beautiful and caring!

"He meant it," she countered, knowing Blaise's temperament. "It's his sudden black mood I didn't understand."

Draco looked at her in silence for a few seconds while sipping his coffee. "Why don't you go ask him?"

She blinked and gave him what had to be an incredulous eye. "And why would I care to do that?" Actually, she'd considered that idea for point-two seconds before dismissing it as rubbish. Zabini would not welcome her in his tent, much less up into his private mental space.

Malfoy shrugged and dropped it, downing the last of his drink with a chug. He abruptly stood, nodding his thanks at Morag, who seemed to hover out of nowhere to take his dirtied dishes away. "I want to try those locator spells right now. He's better at delicate magic than me. I need him." He turned a mercurial gaze on her. "Will you help?"

Nodding, she stood as well. "I'll get the book and Zabini for you. We'll meet you in the War Tent in ten minutes."

With that, she marched away to gather the necessary ingredients. In a few minutes, the question would be answered as to whether Granger was dead or not - and Pansy knew she and Blaise would be needed either way.

Hardening herself to either potential outcome, she made her way with a fluttering tummy to Blaise's tent first, allowing herself to hope for the best.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

_**

* * *

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**AUTHOR'S EXTENDED NOTES:**

**No Patronus was ever assigned to most of the characters in JKR's novels, so I gave them one. Hope you like the choices! **

**Red Fox - **_Vulpes vulpes. A small canid native to much of North America and Eurasia, as well as northern Africa. Clever, sleek, beautiful, vain and quick (both physical speed and mental wit) predators, who fiercely protect their territory and young and can adapt to survive difficult conditions, including habitat destruction. Fits Pansy's personality, in my opinion._

**Silver Black Fox**_** - **__Vulpes vulpes. Same exact species as the Red Fox, but its fur coat is a very rare color variation of black-silver, instead of red, due to a recessive gene. Again, a perfect match for Blaise's temperment, and the dark coat is beautiful on this animal – a perfect match._

_A female fox (vixen) and a reynard fox (male) will remain together after mating occurs, and the male will bring food to his female and their kits (young foxes), while she stays to guard and care for the young. When the kits are old enough (usually four or more months), the mated pair will either separate or stay together for life (if they separate, they tend to reunite in the next mating season anyway). The dens of these fox families are often used for many generations._

**Occamy – **_A creature written about in JKR's Fantastical Beasts & Where to Find Them. According to her, "The Occamy is found in the Far East and India. A plumed, two-legged winged creature with a serpentine body, the Occamy may reach a length of fifteen feet. It feeds mainly on rats and birds, though it has been known to carry off monkeys. The Occamy is aggressive to all who approach it, particularly in defense of its eggs, whose shells are made of the purest, softest silver." I thought this creature was beautiful when I saw an artist's rendition of it (see my blog – rzzmg . wordpress . com – for a link to the picture), and it fits Penelope Clearwater's personality for this fic, in my opinion: secretive, intelligent, a beautiful predator, but defensive of the things it loves._

**Black Desert Cobra - **_Walterinnesia aegyptia. A venomous elapid snake native to arid and_ _scrubland habitats of the Middle East. Spiky tempered, a cunning hunter, and a successful survivor in drought and low prey circumstances. Solitary, like almost all reptiles. If that's not a perfect animal for Severus Snape, I don't know what is!_

**Nundu**_** – **__A creature written about in JKR's _Fantastical Beasts & Where to Find Them_. According to her, "This East African beast is arguably the most dangerous in the world. A gigantic leopard that moves silently despite its size and whose breath causes disease virulent enough to eliminate entire villages, it has never yet been subdued by fewer than a hundred skilled wizards working together. Ministry of Magic Classification: Known wizard killer / impossible to train or domesticate." I felt this was perfect for Jeremy Stretton's patronus, because it reflects his deadly skill and intelligence hidden under the sleek predatory nature of a natural born killer that is extremely tough._


	19. Ch 18: Hiding From Me

**Chapter Eighteen: **_**Hiding From Me**_

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Saturday, October 14, 2000 (early morning)**

Draco sat in his cot, hands in his head, despairing.

The spell to find Granger had failed. The book Pansy supplied hadn't contained enough of Hermione's unique magical residual energy for them to make the trace, as it had been too long since she'd held it in her hands. And no one else in camp had any of her personal property, which had been left behind as they'd escaped Kirkwall. The fire she'd set to ward off the Death Eaters in the grass field had consumed the camp as well. Granger, like the rest of the missing persons, was assumed dead by the others, their bones charred to cinders by the inferno she'd set.

But she _couldn't_ be dead. If she had been, his enchanted serpent ring – a relic that had been in his family's control for over seven centuries - would have found its way back to him magically.

He knew the innocuous piece of jewelry had many magical properties, only the least of which he'd uncovered for himself or been told by his father - the one who had gifted him the mysterious artifact upon his sixteenth birthday, just before being tossed into Azkaban. The ring would always return to its previous owner upon the current bearer's death and it could not be removed forcibly from its owner – not even if the finger were cut from the body, his father had told him. It could be gifted, but not stolen. He'd since discovered on his own that it could mask a person's magical signature - another probable reason for why the spell they'd tried last night failed.

He wanted to rage, to scream, to cry at the unfairness of it all. He'd _finally _been able to touch her, to kiss her, tell her his feelings, and she'd even admitted to sharing them – _told him she'd loved him all along!_ Why could he never hold onto her? Why was she always wrenched out of his grasp? Was this some kind of sick cosmic joke to dangle his heart's greatest desire before him, only to pull it away time and again?

"We'll find her."

Draco sighed and pushed his bangs off his face and got to his feet, shoving away the painful ache in his chest. He would not share his grief; his emotions were usually very privately held, and he didn't like to appear weak, even if it was only Blaise spying at the moment.

Besides, he had a job to do. The others needed him - more so with _her_ gone. Granger had been the camp's 'mother,' and he'd been content to let that relationship be her responsibility, uncomfortable with the emotional crap. With her gone once more from their lives, things had changed again, and the group was still adjusting, more uncertain now than ever as it had been dealt a defeating blow in Kirkwall. He couldn't keep relying on Blaise and the others to solely fill that space Hermione had occupied in their hearts anymore. He was this group's leader, the planner and decision-maker - roles he'd unwittingly been thrust into, but had accepted. Now he had to also be their 'father,' an active figurehead in their lives. He had to evolve into a man that comforted and gave emotional support when required, like now.

It would be very difficult for him. Emotions were things he'd held in check for too long, hidden away behind his mask of infallibility. For that reason, he would still rely upon Blaise, Clearwater and Pans to serve as extensions of Granger's previous role, but it was time he stepped up to that game as well, and started to relate to each of their dwindling group on a closer level.

_She'd_ required this of him – to carry on, to fight, and to find a way to defeat Mort. No matter what else, he would do those things, simply because Hermione had asked him to. He would do anything for her – storm The Fortress, face down history's most powerful dark wizard, knowing it would mean his death. He was hers, and her will commanded him.

"I know," he replied, glancing over at Blaise, who stood in his tent entrance, tall and resilient. Draco would endeavor to be more like his best friend from now on. "But right now, I need you to call a staff meeting. We have plans to make. I want Mort dead by next spring, latest. It's time to get on with our lives and to leave this war behind."

Blaise's dark eyes glittered with proud determination in the morning light streaming through the trees outside. "I'll see to it." He slipped through the open tent flaps as silent as a ghost and was gone in a blink.

Draco changed clothes and freshened up with a spell. Running a hand through his hair one more time, trying for presentable, he welcomed back his carefully scripted poker face, and then headed out to get something to eat.

_Granger, where are you?, _he wondered to the cloudy sky as he made his way through camp, randomly nodding to members of the group who were up and about at such an early hour. _Help me find you…_

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**A Cottage (unknown location)**_

**Unknown Date (sometime in mid-October, 2000, early morning)**

_Help me find you…_

"Draco?"

Hermione sat straight up in bed, limbs shaking, eyes wide, searching, scanning the room in a frenzied panic.

"Malfoy?"

Where was he? She'd definitely heard him.

As the details of her location came into sharp focus and the fuzz of her sleep swept away, she realized that what she'd heard had been merely the residual of a dream. She was still trapped in this gods forsaken cottage, separated from her group - from _him_ – alone and without wand or magic to help her break through the deadly wards surrounding the place until McLaggen returned this afternoon.

Trembling from her night of poor rest and bad imaginings – horrible delusions of Lord Mort catching her, raping her, torturing Malfoy, killing her friends before her eyes with spells that made their heads explode, their bodies freeze solid in seconds or burst into flame – she unsteadily made her feet and headed into the bathroom to take care of 'business' and hop into the shower. Thank Godric this place had hot water!

After finishing up, she towel dried her hair, and used the Muggle toiletries provided – comb, toothbrush, paste, even body lotion – to feel normal again. With a towel wrapped about her thin frame (she _really _needed food, as she was looking a little gaunt for her tastes), she padded back into the main room to get out a pair of fresh clothes (which she'd discovered the night before had been provided for her in the small dresser next to the bed – a week's worth)… only to stop short as Cormac turned from closing the front door behind him.

They both froze in shock and surprise at her being caught indecently strolling about in only a flimsy, cotton rectangle of fabric.

"You said afternoon!" she shrieked, backing towards the bathroom door, never taking her eyes from the man who had given her no reason to trust his intentions. Her whole body flushed with hot blood at being caught in such a stupidly compromising position.

Cor's eyes roamed her from head to toe, and there was heat, but he quickly turned his eyes and face away, giving her his ruined profile. "I was able to sneak away early!" he defended, clearly embarrassed, his cheeks pinking as well. "I thought you might be hungry."

Belatedly, she realized he carried a small grocery bag, stuffed to the brim with goodies. The yellow stems of fresh bananas peeked out over the top.

"Oh."

What else could she say? This moment was awkward enough as it was. Picking a fight would be stupid and might jeopardize the fiction that she was helpless. Better to establish the belief in her weakness and compliance, so he would be more willing to drop his guard. Silently, she watched him with a careful eye, looking for an opportunity to present itself for her to overpower him, while simultaneously alert for any sign of treachery on his part. That she only had a towel for a shield did not, in the least, faze her, either; McLaggen had already seen her naked body, and besides, she'd overtaken him the last time while completely nude. If it was a choice between maintaining dignity versus a chance at freedom, she'd drop the damned thing if necessary.

The Death Eater-Tracker paid her intense scrutiny no heed, if he noticed it at all, and instead crossed the room to the small Muggle kitchenette without glancing again in her direction. With his back carelessly presented to her, he started removing items, placing them down on the counter with purposeful care, every move exacting. "My mum was a long-term care nurse at St. Mungo's before, in the Janus Thickey Ward," he stated dispassionately, as if sensing a need to fill the empty space between them with some sort of explanation for his behavior. "I used to visit her sometimes when I was really little, and help her prepare the meals for the patients. I think what they ate would be all right for you, too, as their diet was meant to put weight back on them."

Warily, Hermione listened as her eyes zeroed in on his wand, which had been imprudently placed on the counter beside him as he'd unpacked the food. Quietly, she crept closer, a plan formulating in her mind as to grabbing the thing and turning it on him. She was half way across the room, still clutching her towel about her when he turned his profile to her once more, one golden eyebrow arching in amusement as he spied her position. "You're physically too weak to try for my wand just now," he knowingly smirked. "I could take you down with a simple push if I wanted to." Self-assuredly arrogant, he turned his attention back to the groceries, depositing some of them away in the cupboards above the counter, purposefully keeping his wand within temptation's call, knowing she wouldn't dare go for it now, as he was right. She still felt off, tired frequently, and her muscles weren't at optimal levels if push came to shove. "Put some clothes on and we'll talk instead," he placidly dictated. "I'm assuming you have questions."

Swearing internally at her lost chance – how had he heard her? – she turned, realizing she'd been bested this time and determining to play his game for now, rifling through the dresser for clothes. At least she could get some answers this way.

Once she had jeans, a sweatshirt, and some clean undergarments on, she slipped on a pair of socks last and then made her way to the table, tossing her dirties on her rumpled bed for now. Taking a seat at the table, she hawkishly observed him, all the while attempting to appear benign and docile by folding her hands before her like a good, little girl. "All right, let's start with the most obvious question of all: why did you save me, Cor?"

McLaggen had finished putting the provisions away, and turned to the few remaining on the counter before him. It looked to be a container of chilled milk, bananas, strawberries, and blueberries. Using his wand now, he sliced into the strawberries, removing their stems, and then began placing them into a Muggle blender, which was attached to a wall socket.

There was electricity coming into this place, probably from underground cables as she'd seen no lines when she'd looked out the windows yesterday. Interesting. Maybe she could use that at some point. She filed that tidbit away, determined later to look for the circuit box.

"Ask another question," he replied, dodging her query.

Well, clearly, he was unsettled by having to give his reasons for caring for her, and so that one was right out. "Okay, _how_ did you save me?" she inquired instead. "What happened after I was hit by that spell that knocked me down?"

McLaggen shrugged, not looking up, focusing on his food preparation. "I killed the Death Eater who hit you with the Slashing Curse – Avery Jr. Then, while your friends were busy fighting the rest, I used the distraction to get to you," he nonchalantly explained as he continued to concoct what was apparently going to be a milkshake for her. He spoke as casually as if he were discussing the weather or a weekender sale at Leekes, instead of ending a man's life. "When there was a chance to get to you, I pulled your body into the shadow of a tent and Apparated us away before anyone was the wiser. I brought you here, to my mother's cottage." He absently waved a hand at the roof and surrounding area. "I'd made it Unplottable and charmed it with a _Fidelius_, as well as other spells, back when the war first broke out to protect her." He turned and impassively looked at her, pausing in his culinary work. "You should know that no one knows you're here, Granger. No one will ever be able to find you here, either. No spells can track a person to this place. I'm the only Secret Keeper, and the wards around this cottage are set to kill anything – a person, a dog, even a mosquito – that tries to enter without correctly disabling them."

Hermione tried not to let the tightness in her chest at his assertion that she was absolutely not getting out of this place without him show on her face. She was, she now understood, completely trapped and at McLaggen's mercy. Her friends wouldn't be able use a Four-Point Spell to locate her general direction with this cottage being an Unplottable location, nor would they be able to use _Memorus Corpus_ or _Revelio Corpus_, as she'd been too long away from her things for them to be of any use in tracking down her 'magical scent,' she knew.

Well, that sucked hard.

"Don't suppose you'd be willing to let me go?" she cheekily asked, trying to sound the exact opposite of upset, hoping to throw her captor off.

A slow smile wound up Cormac's handsome side of his face. "Not yet. Props for asking, though. Anything else?"

"Whose side are you on now?"

The smile instantly fell, and those tawny-gold eyes went flat. "My own."

She tilted her head in consideration. "So, you've defected? You've left your Master for good?"

He derisively snorted, and returned to cutting up the strawberries. "He was _never_ my Master. I never had a choice but to serve him."

Her ring on her right finger squeezed once. She quickly glanced down at it. _Yes? Is that what you mean? He's telling me the truth?_

One squeeze.

Her eyes widened in surprise. _Can you hear me?_

The ring constricted once again.

_Once is yes, two is no?_ she guessed.

A third squeeze.

Whoa, her very own personal truth divining rod! How absolutely handy! _Can you do this for anyone – tell me if they're speaking the truth or not?_

Two squeezes.

_Oh, only Cormac then?_

One squeeze.

She considered that carefully. _It's because you bit him, right?_

One squeeze.

Ah, made sense. Most magical items in the wizarding world, especially those of Dark Magic – which she assumed this ring was, given its nature – required some sort of sacrifice, usually blood, to work. In this case, it seemed the serpent ring needed to touch someone's blood to know their heart's veracity.

One squeeze.

Confirmation of her guess. Interesting. The thing was sentient, then.

One squeeze.

_Does Malfoy know you can do this?_

Two squeezes.

Hmmm… She'd have to ask it more questions later. Right now, she needed to pay better attention to Cormac. He was still a danger to her until proven otherwise, regardless of how he'd helped her convalesce over the last four weeks. "So, let me get this straight: you expect me to believe that you didn't take the Dark Mark and become a Death Eater and Tracker by your own will? What, were you _Imperio_'d or something?"

Her former Housemate paused again and was silent for several minutes. Pain reflected his eyes. "Nothing so easy as that," he finally conceded. "I was captured less than two months after Mort rose to power. He wanted recruits to replace those he'd lost in the various battles that took place immediately after Potter had lost and the Order began its frenzied attacks in retaliation, but it wasn't like there was a line of volunteers." His jaw clenched up. "So, he made them by converting the unwilling."

Hermione wasn't sure how much of this story to believe. _Is he telling the truth?_

One squeeze.

Gods help them both. How many Death Eaters had Lord Mort made in such a way, and were any of them wizards or witches she'd killed? "He converted you _how_ exactly?" Her voice trembled on that last word, and she bit her lip to keep her rising anxiety inside.

The former Death Eater – a dark and cruel killer of men - started daintily peeling bananas and putting them into the blender whole, making sure to get those nasty strings off first. He was precise in his movements and in the disposal of the peels, she noted. How odd a behavior for this man.

"He'd have his loyalists break you down physically to start," he replied to her inquiry as calmly detached as the previous explanation. "They'd use all sorts of methods: peeling your skin off, burning or branding your flesh, whipping you, pulling out your nails, raping you repeatedly, _Crucio_ – you name it. And they always patched up the damage by that night so they could do it again the next day. The physical stuff… it beat you down, and it _hurt_, but it wasn't the worst they did." Cor had stopped moving, his eyes gazing out the small kitchen window above the sink area but unseeing, turned inward at seemingly horrific memories. "You could survive the body's torture, if you could get over the trauma and didn't bleed out. It was the mental stuff that you learned to fear. That… that made you beg for them to fuck you or beat you instead - _anything_ to knock you unconscious, so you wouldn't have to experience _him_ sliding through your skull anymore." He paused, sniffed, blinked, but continued to look off into the distance, his glassy gaze and shadowed features gripped by awful memories that he seemingly couldn't tear himself away from.

Hermione could have taken advantage of his moment of distraction to grab at his wand, sure, but – and she hated to admit it - his tale was both enthralling and sickening at the same time to bear witness to, like a nasty bit of road kill in the middle of the lane. No matter how she wanted to turn away, to plug her ears, to go on believing that none of what McLaggen said was real (so she could keep on hating him and not feel a bit of sorry for him, because, really, who wanted to contract Stockholm Syndrome in the middle of a war?), she knew there was no choice but to sit and listen now that she was emotionally invested in her curiosity. All thoughts of escaping before he'd finished jettisoning this toxin into the open had flown right out the window, as the desire to know the truth swept Hermione up in its jagged claws and pinned her to her seat.

Cor deeply inhaled, as if needing that single, hot breath to instill courage so he could continue. "They'd start from the first day you were brought in. After they immobilized you, they'd shove down your throat some brewed concoction made up from Mort's own blood, Mugwort, Skull Cap, Veritaserum, and a few other things I've never heard of before. It made your mind susceptible to suggestion and kept you from casting wandless spells. They'd do that every day after the torture, just after they healed you. Then, they'd put you back in your cell, but refuse to let you sleep. They had spells that screeched like a baby Mandrake if you tried to close your eyes. It's how they'd keep you up for days, forcing you to walk in circles to stay awake. It was meant to break down your will, so you'd get to the point where you'd beg for sleep. Once you did that, the Dark Lord finally entered your mind to destroy the last of your personality."

He turned in her direction, still not meeting her eyes, but pulled back from the brink, returning to the present. "Mort's a master of psychological terror, you know? Pulling out of your mind all of the things that ever scared you and reflecting them back at you, like some… Super Boggart… or something like that. It was always the most awful things, too, Granger. Every night terror from your childhood, every abomination you'd ever witnessed, and anything frightening or shocking that your imagination could conjure, you were forced to confront. Then, Mort would suddenly appear in these dreams and rescue you. He'd chase away or defeat the threat and offer to keep you safe, soothing your pain like a parent, and letting you finally rest. And he'd do it over and over every time you shut your eyes, twisting the vision to suit his purpose and saving you every night, so that eventually you ended up not trusting anyone – not even yourself – only _him_. You'd give over your loyalty into his hands voluntarily, because you knew he was the only one who could make the nightmares stop. That's how he'd make you love him."

To her utmost surprise and horror, teardrops dripped down Cormac's pale cheeks, unheeded, falling from his golden, tormented eyes – eyes that had seen too much unspeakable evil for one person to endure. "He destroyed me in only sixteen days," he confessed in a soft whisper. "That was all I could take. Even Professor Sprout survived twenty-two before her body finally gave out. I didn't even have that excuse. I just gave up. He'd completely broken me. Sixteen days." He blinked, the tears continuing to fall, but there were no sobs to accompany them. It was as if he was incapable of immersing himself in the emotions of sorrow that were clearly etched on his features. "Once I'd agreed to give him anything at all to make all the pain stop, he had me removed from the cell, cleaned up, and fed. I slept without nightmares for two days after that and I had the most pleasant dreams. They were his gift, you see – another way to engender love and loyalty."

He sniffed, brushed at one cheek with the sleeve of his sweater, seeming so crushed that it hurt to look at him. "They gave me the Mark on the nineteenth day. I was told by Macnair that it burns like fire when you're branded, but I didn't even feel it. Instead, I felt _him_ in my head again. If I didn't do whatever he asked of me from that point forward, Mort threatened to would withdraw his favor, and the nightmares would return. But it wasn't the fear of the bad dreams that made me agree to his terms." His shook his head, eyes glassing over once again. "It was the thought that he'd abandon me. Even though I knew what he was, I couldn't stand the idea of him disavowing me. It caused physical pain."

Looking down, swallowing hard, he shut his eyes in obvious shame. "My first task was to rape and kill a Muggle girl they brought into the circle that same night. I didn't feel a thing the whole time, even with everyone watching. I don't even remember what she looked like. But I remember after-" Jaw clenching, Hermione could practically hear his back teeth breaking from the pressure. "It was the first time I'd seen _him_ in person. He appeared…_ different_… looked like a bloke in his twenties. Black hair, green eyes, sensual lips, and a body that was built to seduce either sex."

Cormac turned until his face was no longer visible to her, but she could see the rigidity in his shoulders and spine, could practically taste his revulsion vibrating through the air – and she just _knew_ what he was going to say next. A part of her wished he wouldn't, that he would take this secret with him to the grave. But she understood, too, that Cormac _needed_ to tell her this. This was his most sacred confession – one he'd probably never tell another living soul – and he needed to speak it aloud just once in his life, so he could get over the shame. Why he'd picked her for his audience… well, she thought she knew that, too, but would wait for him to answer her initial question before she solidified her suspicions on that issue.

He was talking again, so she tuned-in, carefully turning over all his words, considering his situation so she would know how best to proceed later when it came to their interactions.

"It was all an illusion, of course. In real life, Mort doesn't look like that. In actuality, he's-" He shuddered. "You've seen him yourself. You know how grotesque he is. But that night, he took me using a combination of that false body and mind magic to entice me. And I _liked_ it - every second of it." He shook his curly blond head again, as if wishing to deny the truth, but knowing he couldn't. "I'm not into men, Granger. The very idea repulses me even now to think about it. But I survived being raped by the male Death Eaters in my cell because it was done without my consent. What Mort did to me, though… he drilled into my head, made me crave his touch like a woman would, and doing that bound me to him even more. Whatever he asked of me, I was willing to do after that, so long as there was one more touch waiting at the end. So long as he kept telling me he loved me. I was addicted, just like he planned. Everything I'd been, everything I'd believed, all my moral high ground – it was all gone after that. I was completely the mirror opposite of how I'd been just nineteen days previous."

He took another of those deep, calming breaths, and turned to go back to the work he'd abandoned, slicing up fruit, his long lashes brushing low until his eyes were barely slits. "I was given to Phaedra two days after that, to act as her personal guard. The Madam controlled me easily with her powers, too. Between her and Mort, I did everything they wanted and then some. I reveled in the slaughter and pain I caused because I knew they would be pleased and would reward me for it later. After a while, the killing and torturing of people became the norm. It engrained itself into me, erasing who I was before. I couldn't stop. It felt good to be so out of control. I was unmade, and rebuilt into exactly the kind of soldier they wanted – one without a conscience, who would do as bid and then some, rotted to the core."

He turned dead, defeated eyes on her then, a frown marring his sad countenance. "You said the war had driven me mad, Granger. You were right."

He lapsed into silence as he turned back to his task, looked down and banished the fruit remnants that weren't part of the recipe with a wave of his wand. Hermione could only watch, unsure of what to say or do just that second. _Was that true?_ she asked her silver companion on her right hand silently with her mind.

One squeeze. No hesitation.

_Fuck me,_ she swore internally, feeling her heart bleed for this man whom she had once hated with every fiber of her being. How could anyone survive what he had? More importantly, would she have been able to deny Mort, given the same circumstances? Would she have been able to do any different? Honestly, she didn't think so. She remembered how powerful Phaedra had been – and the woman wasn't even in the same league as Mort in terms of mind magic. She knew the Dark Lord had easily sniffed out Severus quickly after combining himself with Harry and Nagini, and made her former professor – a man of unwavering courage - trepidacious about sending anyone near the Dark Lord who couldn't best him in Occlumency. If Snape wasn't a match for Mort, how could someone as young and inexperienced as McLaggen have been? Given that, how could she continue hating this man before her? How could she look at him as her enemy?

_Caution. You're still locked up in here with no way out,_ she reminded herself. _It's yellow light time!_

One squeeze from the ring.

_You're telling me not to trust him?_ she mentally projected to her new 'friend.'

One squeeze.

_He's hiding something, isn't he? Something that will change how I feel about him again?_

One squeeze.

_I wish you could talk so you could just tell me._

The ring was silent.

She glanced up to find McLaggen adding all of the fruits to the blending jar, along with some of the milk from the carton. "So, what changed you?" she finally asked into the dead air between them, wanting to remain distant and careful as the ring was warning her to do.

The loud noise of the chopper erupted between them, allowing him to avoid answering. When the concoction was liquefied, he moved over to the Muggle refrigerator-freezer, and pulled some ice cubes out of a tray, adding them to the mix. He blended some more, chopping the ice up until the pinkish mix was an even blended, old fashioned shake. Reaching into a cupboard, he grabbed down two large plastic glasses and poured half the jar for her, the other for himself.

With wand firmly in hand, he approached with one glass and set it down before her, then backed away, careful to keep eye contact with her. Neither of them trusted the other, it seemed. "You'll want to drink it slowly to get your body accustomed to food again. If it makes you sick, we'll put you back on broth for a few days."

Leaning across the table, she picked up the glass and took a sip, letting the smooth, delicate flavors blend in her mouth and run down her throat. "It's good," she complimented him with a tilt of her head.

Nodding, he picked up his own glass and drank. They didn't speak again until the glasses were drained, and then it was only him telling her that he had to get back before anyone suspected him gone, and urging her to rest some more to regain her strength.

Before he left, he relit the fire under the cauldron on the hearth and reminded her of the broth, in case she got hungry again later that afternoon. Promising to return soon, he quickly left by the front door. The sound of the lock clicking back into place behind him was a loud reminder than no matter how civil and benevolent Cormac McLaggen appeared now, she was still his prisoner, in effect.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Saturday, October 14, 2000 (late afternoon/early evening)**

Will felt Jeremy's approach in his mind long before he heard his former best friend's step approach from behind. He refused to turn, however, keeping his eyes focused on the horizon, concentrating on his recently-restored patrol duty. With a great effort, he attempted to calm his heart as well, which had shot up several paces at the knowledge that Jeremy was coming closer.

And yet, despite these efforts, still he couldn't stop that golden spark in the corner of his soul lighting up once more, washing over him and bringing nervous flutters to his belly. His spine tingled in reaction, his shoulder blades itched, and the gums just over his canines throbbed. To top it all, he had a headache behind his eyes that was becoming a bitch to ignore.

Come to think of it, he'd been having more and more of those lately, hadn't he? And his sleep had been irregular, too; sometimes, he'd wake up as exhausted as when he went to bed. If this kept up, he'd have to talk to Snape about passing him a Dreamless Sleeping draught or two…

Between one blink and the next, his dark lover stood at his side, silent.

_Calm down_, he told himself over and over again. _Don't be affected. Don't give in._

He'd effectively learned to shut his mind down after that night he and Jeremy had shared, keeping the other man out simply by visualizing an endlessly tall brick wall standing between them at all times, so he wasn't worried about having internal conversations anymore. However, the effort cut both ways; his former friend was as much as mystery to him now, too, and sometimes the _not _knowing how to act or think about Jeremy was almost as painful as the knowing.

"Hey."

Will sighed, feeling melancholia grip him once more. Just the sound of his mate's husky, lulling voice tore him up inside, reminding him once more of his choices and how he'd driven Jeremy away - driven him right into the arms of Su Li, the half-Vampiress. At least, that's how it seemed as the two were never far from each other lately.

He should be relieved that his former lover's attention was now fixated elsewhere, but he wasn't. Truth be told, he was irrationally, wildly jealous. His mind constantly whirled over messed-up scenarios of the two Vampires together in bed, tasting each other's blood and having hot, wet sex that lasted for hours – imaginings that seemed more and more as if they might be grounded in reality when he saw them walking side by side across camp with such ease, talking in low voices, or sitting with their heads too close together as they laughed at some private joke at the dining table in the main pavilion. The idea had rooted itself in his brain, haunted his dreams, and flashed inappropriate fantasies before his eyes during moments when he was supposed to be watching for the enemy – like now. It was driving him mad.

The headache pushed at his frontal lobe, and his mouth felt hot.

"What do you want?" he asked somewhat resignedly to the man whose mere presence destroyed his peace, determined to get their confrontation over and done with as soon as possible. He wanted to be alone just then.

Jeremy was quiet again for several long seconds. "It's been over a month and almost a half, Will. Can we not talk about it yet?"

He shrugged, feeling the right shoulder pull up just a fraction of a second slower than the other. It seemed he'd never be at one hundred percent on that side anymore, much like Longbottom was on his left. Apparently, the same Death Eater had hit them both with the same fecking spell. "What's there to say? It happened, it's done."

"You still punish me for it," Jeremy grit from between clenched teeth. "You still avoid me on purpose. You refuse to talk to me. You won't even look at me. Is it easier for you to pretend I don't exist?"

Will felt himself dying a little more inside at these hurtful words, wanting more than anything to be able to have back what he and Jeremy had lost, but unable to without compromising who and what he was. If he gave in to their bond, he would become hooked to the _Jouisseur_, consumed by it, which would effectually make him a slave to Jeremy's will. He didn't trust the man anymore not to take advantage of that, and he was duly frightened of losing himself, of becoming no better than a Potion's addict, needing the next sex fix just to keep going. It would unmake him if he lost himself to such wantonness and debauchery. It was bad enough he was a sinner for lying with a man (and wanting to do so again and again), and that he was suffering from some weird transformation that he was too scared to talk to anyone about, forcing him to keep everyone at a distance.

"Yes, it's easier," he finally replied, keeping it terse, hoping his disinterest would be enough of a hint for Jeremy to leave. It hurt too bloody much to be this close.

"Would it matter if I told you that if I knew then what I know now, I'd never have bound you to me?" his former lover asked, his voice laced with pain. "That I'm sorrier than you can ever know - sorry that I forced you into this predicament that's made you so unhappy, sorry I took your choices away, sorry I wasn't more honest from the start with you. Does any of that matter in any way?"

Again, Will shrugged. Better to feign indifference than to give into the compulsion to grab Jeremy and press his tongue deep into the other man's mouth and ride him to the ground, to rip his clothes from his body and press himself deep inside his mate until they both died of the want. He ignored the stiffening of his member in his pants, tried hard to hide his growing arousal. "It's a start," he bit, thinking of cold, unpleasant things to rid himself of this unwanted desire.

The half-Vampire moved so fast then that Will was caught off guard, finding himself suddenly falling into the most beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen as Jeremy stood practically nose-to-nose with him. His lover's hot, mint-scented breath brushed across his cheeks, enticing him closer. "Then believe me when I tell you that I'm _so sorry_ that I hurt you," Jeremy confessed in a low, deep voice that made things in Will's abdomen clench. "But, also understand this, Will: I'm _not_ sorry I had the chance to touch you – to know you as no man had ever done before or since. No matter how much this has hurt us both, I'll _never_ be sorry for having the honor of being your first real lover." Cold fingertips reached out and tentatively brushed his, just barely stroking flesh against flesh, testing the waters. Jeremy's eyelids lowered to half-mast, and he gazed through thick, black lashes straight into Will's very soul. "And I'll never stop wanting or loving you, no matter what."

Will's heart slammed into the back of his rib cage, and he physically grabbed at the area, clenching his fingers around the fabric of his thick, woolen sweater and fisting it, as if he could reach right inside his chest and do the same to that pulsating, throbbing organ underneath. Why did this sound like a goodbye? And could he trust Jeremy's apology as legitimate? He'd sounded sincere, but something felt… off.

"You're cold," he whispered, trying to put the facts together, appraising his former lover up and down with a clinical glance. "And your skin's _really_ pale. What's wrong with you?"

Jeremy stepped back a good meter then, putting adequate distance between them. He looked down at the frost-laden mulch beneath their feet, suddenly too shy to look up. "Nothing's wrong."

A screaming voice in the back of Will's head alerted him to the falsehood. He firmly shook his head. "Try again."

Jeremy's jaw tightened, and when he looked up again, his eyes were suddenly darker, a red tint overlapping the pupils. Will had only seen this one time: when Su had first come to camp and the violent Vampire within him had reacted. Warning sirens went off in Will's mind. "What's wrong, Jeremy?"

The question caused his mate to not just wince, but to violently cringe. "I'm fine. I… just came to talk. Nothing else." Jeremy closed his eyes and shook his head, even as his breathing picked up. "I… should go."

With that, his morbid lover was gone, faster than Will's eyes could track. "Jeremy, wait!" he shouted to the now empty landscape about him, whipping around, trying to see into the forest for any trace of movement. There was nothing but empty shadows in a world gone silent and still. Even the wild birds had quieted their usual cacophony of noise, as if they sensed something off with the world and didn't want to attract unwanted attention.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

**Saturday, October 14, 2000 (night)**

After working for weeks to perfect his cover, and to earn the trust of Macnair, Philip Cadwallader was finally free to walk about the castle without escort. Currently, he exited the old library in the fourth floor (which was amazingly still intact), carrying the book he'd shrunken down and stolen in the pocket of his robes. It was a book on techniques for strengthening Occlumency abilities, containing unique meditative practices and such. He had been trained by Snape before leaving, and deemed a satisfactory Occlumens to hold his own against many of the Death Eaters here, but he knew he was still a fledgling in this art, and needed to seriously brush up before he ran across someone who could break through the mental barrier he'd learned to erect to keep Legilimens out. This book should help - at least, he _hoped._

So far, no one had suspected him, and with Mort out of the castle converting the countryside with his most powerful Trackers and most loyal, old regime Death Eaters, he hadn't needed to worry about being immediately routed. And since it was also a common occurrence for new Death Eater recruits to appear at the gates weekly now to seek refuge and training from the older recruits, his appearance hadn't been considered abnormal – especially with Krum and his Bulgarian friend from Durmstrang at his side. Both men had been previously been believed to be Death Eater collaborators (and were assumed by those remaining on-site who had been in-the-know to have been sent to the continent, which explained their absence from England, although in reality, he knew it was because Snape had pulled them out of the spy business to protect them). No one seemed to doubt their story so far, and they were welcomed into The Fortress with minimal mind scanning and a check on all three men's arms for the Dark Mark.

Snape and Theo had painstakingly tattooed a replica of their marks onto the three spies the night before they'd left the encampment in Ireland. They'd waited a few days for the scarring to heal in the Forbidden Forest (casting magical healing spells on their arms to dramatically speed up the process), and then they'd made their way under the cover of darkness towards the castle one night when they'd finally agreed that they were ready to begin with their individual missions.

From the get-go, Philip had managed to snowball Macnair, Nott's old boss (and a man Philip had been told was a weak Legilimens and not very bright) by playing up to the man's ego - his biggest weakness, according to the former Slytherin spy who had been apprenticed to the man. He'd been accepted easily enough into the ranks that way, and had been accorded a dorm room in the former Hufflepuff tower as a result, separated from his two companions, who had been led off towards the previous home of the Gryffindors.

He hadn't seen his two traveling companions since that night, and wondered if Viktor and Sorin were still alive. In this place, one never knew. The screams of the tortured rang out night and day from classrooms that had been converted into cells once the dungeons had been filled. It had kept Philip awake for the first night. After that, he'd had to take a nightly Sleeping Draught to give himself some peace. He'd used up the last of it four days ago. Since then, he'd been putting stuffing from his pillow into his ears. It was bad enough he had his own set of nightmares to keep him up, but combined with the cries and wailing of the prisoners…

He rubbed at his eyes, blinking back the sleep, trying to keep a sharp focus while he roamed the halls of his once beloved home-away-from-home. It wouldn't do to let his mental walls down for even a second outside of the safety of his private room.

Returning to his dorm without incident, he sealed shut the door, waved for privacy over the entrance and then hid away the book he'd stolen in the torn out empty pocket he'd made of the box spring under his mattress. He checked his poisons stash again, making sure the vials – all of which had been charmed against breakage for this trip – were not tainted by the perpetual cold in the castle. Lifting one glass container, he held it up for inspection. It was still a thick, white-grey mucus. Good, that meant that the venom – a rare poison milked from the Marbled Cone Snail, one of the most toxic animals on the planet – was stable and viable. He put it back and checked another. The poison gathered from the Blue-Ringed Octopus was beginning to go bad, changing color from an indigo color to black. It was time to use it. He slipped it into his robes, replaced all of the coverings over his hiding spot, and then left for the kitchens in the basement.

The food for prisoners versus captors was separated, he knew from a previous foray down here (he'd missed a meal purposefully one afternoon, and then came down later to supposedly get something to eat after the fact, using that opportunity to see the workings of the food preparation). The poison in his pocket was incurably lethal; a single animal carried enough toxin in their body to kill twenty-six humans in minutes, and there was no antidote. He planned to dump the whole two ounces – enough from three of the octopi – into a cauldron as soon as the coast was clear and the house elves distracted by the small fire he intended on "accidentally" setting on the other side of the room. It was overkill, but better safe than sorry.

Like him, he hoped Viktor and Sorin didn't eat anything for the next day. There was no way to get a message to them, however, warning them off food without risking his mission. It was a chance he'd have to take. They knew the score. This mission had been a suicide run, and they'd all three tacitly agreed to those terms. At least he'd take some of these fuckers out before he met his end – for his family, for his old professors, for all of the innocents who had died in this bloody war. He'd at least give them some justice.

Cautiously, he made his way towards his goal, his determination grim, but firm, his hand loosely closed around the vial in his robes pockets, giving him courage.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Saturday, October 14, 2000 (night)**

Penelope waited in the tent she shared with Neville, lying naked in ambush in their cot, playing with the pretty ring on her left hand. She didn't ask where the diamond engagement ring came from - didn't care to know, honestly. All that mattered was that he had given it to her, along with his promise to make her his wife.

He'd been willing to put their wedding off until the end of this month, out of a hope they'd find the Captain before then (because it was very important to Penelope that Granger – the woman who had reached out a hand to her years ago, who had accepted her despite her past, who had respected her for her mind, and who had taught her how to fight back - stand at her side), but no longer. He was worried that they'd keep inventing reasons if they let it go on too long, and honestly, she knew he was right. There would always be one more emergency, one more reason for them to not make it official. In war, there was always an excuse to prolong the inevitable. So, they'd picked a date, and both agreed: it was Halloween night or bust. Fay and Charlie wanted in on it too, so they'd all decided it would be a double wedding.

She prayed they found Granger before then.

The front of the tent flap rustled and parted aside. "I'm home," Neville announced as he stepped through, not noticing her state of _undishabille _right away. He turned and closed up the fabric door to keep the warming charm's heat inside. It was getting colder every day now that winter was approaching.

Rising on her elbows, letting the soft woolen blanket drop to her waist, baring her breasts, Penny put on her best seductress act. "Welcome home, lover."

She saw him stiffen, knew he'd heard the tone in her voice. Turning his head, a wicked gleam in his eye, he finally caught sight of her. A smirk wound up his cheek as he finally caught a good eye-full. "Hmmm… miss me?"

Penny naughtily licked her lips, much more comfortable now with sex than she had ever been in the whole of her life. Knowing Neville wanted her as much as she wanted him, that their love was true and real had allowed her to drop her shields around him and to be playful in a way she hadn't ever experienced before with a man. It was invigorating and freeing. "Did you miss _me_?" she countered, intentionally staring at his crotch as he turned fully about and waved his wand over the tent for privacy.

His grin was utterly charming. "I _always_ miss you when we're apart," he returned, quickly dropping his cloak to the floor, shucking his shoes and socks and reaching to pull his shirt over his head as he crossed the space to the makeshift bed. "When I'm not inside you, I'm aching for you, love." He hurriedly unzipped his pants, pulling them down with quick work of his fingers. "Can't you tell?" He gripped his cock in one hand and primed himself up and down as he loomed over her.

Pushing off her elbows into an upright position, she leaned in and without any preamble, took him in her mouth, wanting to taste every inch of him. He gasped in pleasure. "_Merlin_, Penny - that mouth of yours… You make me come apart!"

Gripping his naked hips, she steadied him and pumped her head back and forth over his long length, taking him all the way down to the hilt, tonguing him on the upstroke. His fingers gripped fistfuls of her hair and held on as she worked herself over him to the chorus of his moaning and coaxing, naughty words. As he started towards the summit of his peak, she increased the pressure of her sucking mouth, rolling her lips over his crown on each surfacing, forcing him to pass through them, tightening around him again every time she sunk low. Rubbing circles over his hip at first, she caressed his upper thigh next, then slipped down between his legs and began fondling his heavy sack.

She loved doing this to the man she'd given her heart to. He tasted so good and the noises he made… _She _made him lose control like this. _Her_ mouth,_ her_ hands, _her_ will did it. And he loved her for it; told her at every opportunity, especially now as he tightened up and began to spill over.

"Merlin, I love you, Penny!" he cried out, throwing his head back, every toned muscle in his chest, abs, legs, arms and arse beautifully tensing up as he spilled his hot seed into her mouth in hot spurts. "Oh, yes… oh, _gods!_" His fingers gently, reverently petted her cheeks, her brow, and her temple, then through her hair as he finished. "So beautiful, my Penny," he whimpered as she popped him out of her mouth and let him rest.

Glancing up at him, Penny smiled is real happiness, knowing she'd brought him again, and so well. Returning the smile, he bent over at the waist and locked his lips onto hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, groaning as he tasted himself on her. Sweat dotting his brow, he leaned his forehead to hers, continuing to erotically kiss her, pulling the blanket off her body. "Your turn," he whispered, cupping one breast and tweaking the nipple with just the right amount of pressure.

Climbing into the cot between her legs, he proceeded to make Penny weep with that devilish mouth and those perfect hands of his, biting and licking her nipples first, then trailing hot lips down her stomach to between her legs. He flicked, nipped, bit, and lathed her most cherished places, thrusting fingers into her body and making her climax twice for him, telling her how beautiful she was in between. Then he held her in safety and love in his arms, spooning them in her favorite position – his cock nestled against her butt, their legs and arms entwined, resting back against his chest.

"Happy birthday," he breathed against her neck, gently nibbling. "But isn't it traditional for _me_ to give _you_ the present today, love?"

Penny snickered, and against her arse, she felt his penis awaken once more. "Doing that to you _was_ part of my present."

Neville chuckled and began temptingly rubbing his length between her cheeks from behind. "There's more to your gift, you know," he sinfully enticed with his mouth pressed against her ear, one hand reaching down between them to caress her clit, while the other massaged an aching breast. "Want the rest?"

"_Yes__!_"

Penny actually purred when he inserted his cock into her, slowly joining their flesh, making them into a single connected being once more. They "accidentally" missed dinner as a result.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Saturday, October 14, 2000 (night)**

Jeremy had refused to go back to camp after his little talk with Will, afraid he might hurt his friends or worse, his mate, so powerful was the Vampire within him calling out for blood. Instead, he'd run – literally – to the closest town to the northwest of their campsite, Blessington, hoping to take care of his needs there. Thankfully, Mort's enforcement of the Dark Mark on the citizenry of the U.K. hadn't quite reached the Irish countryside as far as he could tell, and people still humped about the streets of the tiny, little town not as concerned as they should be of the future.

Once he'd arrived on the outskirts of the main strip, he'd cloaked himself in a Disillusionment Charm and then walked about, listening, watching, and waiting the hours until full-on darkness. He didn't want any witnesses to what he would be doing tonight, and nighttime offered the best opportunity for supernatural things to go unseen. All the while, his psycho Vamp side had pounded at the inside of his brain, screaming for him to hurry over and take that old bag wearing the peculiar hat… or jump that bloke across the way… or nip away at that little bird over there... Never had the thing inside him been this compelling before, and it took all of Jeremy's mental discipline not to give into its demands _and_ to maintain his partial-invisibility spell at the same time.

Had the bonding – or denial of it by Will - done this to him? He'd noticed it firing to the surface the closer he'd stood to his mate this afternoon, heightening the burning lust roaring through his veins as soon as he'd brushed against Will's fingers. He almost hadn't been able to pull himself away from the haze of need that had gripped him then, and it had taken every ounce of fortitude to run and not look back.

But in those seconds… oh, _gods_, the feel of his mate's skin against his, even just a fluttering one, had been torturous! If he'd accidentally let his shields drop even a miniscule amount then, there wouldn't have just be shagging involved between he and Will. No, there would be blood drinking, too. And then the desire to share back, to make Will like him would have been uncontrollable – which would have killed Will, he now knew. Vampire blood, even that of a half-Vampire, was a potentially (the odds were greatly in favor of) lethal toxin to humans, as he had only recently been informed.

Su had loaned Jeremy a book on Western Vampires a couple of weeks back, after they'd settled in at Wicklow and Will had pulled through his ordeal. It was one of her stashed items that she'd taken from Pansy's private library before leaving The Madam's House. The book had been written by a wizard named Eldred Worple, an eccentric man that had lived with the Vampire Sanguini for ten years to study him. During that time, Worple had used a combination of Muggle science and wizarding magic to study Sanguini and the Vampires in his household (for the subject of Worple's research was a Master amongst the Western Kindred, his blood potent enough to turn followers).

Worple believed that Vampires were living beings who suffered from an evolved, sentient, blood-borne virus, which he'd named _Vampirius Viricticus Demonica_. Where this small, infectious agent came from, the author did not know, and neither did the subject of his writings, although according to the man's research, writings about the virus could be traced throughout Muggle and wizarding history, even all the way back to UR in Mesopotamia, where it was even then known as an "old affliction."

Worple then went into great detail about the scientific observations and conclusions that he'd drawn of years of lab work with _Vampirius_ - how it was contracted-reproduced, how it survived, its survival mechanisms, and its effects on its host. In his first chapter alone, the nerdy little wizard admitted that _Vampirius _was "an extremely potent, little life form" that "acted like a cross between a traditional virus," in how it parasitically reproduced and altered its host's body and "a demonic possession," in how insidiously intelligent it behaved, and its ability to communicate telepathically with its host.

According to Worple, when the _Vampirius_ invaded a new host body for the first time (as he'd observed when Sanguini exposed a volunteer to his blood), it went about immediately altering the new host's entire biologic systems one at a time over the course of days (glandular, cardiovascular, digestive, nervous, reproductive, lymphatic, immune, cellular, etc.), converting them as appropriate to serve _its_ survival needs. In remaking the host's physical form so dramatically, the demon-virus also unintentionally changed the host's unique electromagnetic and magical auras, which was _also_ extremely traumatizing to the body and somehow disrupted a wizard or witch's powers (in some cases, triggering them, in others changing them or shutting them off completely). As a result of such enforced trauma within a relatively short period of time, most people died during the transformation, their bodies unable to handle the extreme evolution. It's why Vampires were so rare, and why (Jeremy now knew) that of the six women infected by the Vampire who had taken his mother, only she had survived. Apparently, his mum had been just the right combination of genes and will to survive the alteration, while the others hadn't been biologically and/or magically fit.

The side effect of surviving the turning, according to Worple, was that Vampires were forced to consume blood so they didn't die from being drained by the demon-virus, which used blood to continually replenish itself (for every entity on the planet required a food source). This had the effect of setting up a twisted sort of symbiotic relationship between the demon-virus and the host body, preventing the host from ever being cured of the invasion without killing them. Consequently, the host became, in effect, 'undead' because they could no longer sustain their own life on their own (which was the very definition of a 'living' entity).

Other, lesser effects Worple noted included an _extreme_ sensitivity to sunlight (because the body's cells were constantly regenerating), and typically, the host hated any agent that made the blood unpalatable, and offended a Vampire's enhanced olfactory senses ('gifts' of the demon-virus transformation, which was really nothing more than an evolutionary adaptation meant to help the host locate its blood prey easier, as well as to help the host know when others were nearby so it could take steps to protect itself) - hence the superstition that Vampires hated garlic (which wasn't necessarily true; Jeremy loved garlic and didn't mind the flavor in the blood, whereas he was offended by smokers, because nicotine and all of the toxins put into those cancer sticks seeped through the skin's pours and made him nauseous to scent).

In effect, he'd learned that _Vampirius_ kept a host alive (and by proxy, itself alive) by constantly using up blood plasmids to regenerate and replenish cells. Somehow, the demon-virus never damaged the cellular DNA with every generational copy (Worple had never figured this part out either, but believe it was made possible through magical means), thus preventing traditional "mortal" aging (which was why all full-blood Vampires looked exactly as they had in the moment they'd awoken from the transformation process, no matter how many years passed in between that time and their demise, thus the idea that they were immortal).

As for how Vampires died… Worple hypothesized that unless a Vampire starved itself by never consuming blood again, or something cut a Vampire's head off (severing the body's connection to the stem of the brain, where the demon-virus took up main residency after converting the host body to its use), or burned them in totality (this killing the demon-virus and host together), or destroyed a Vampire's heart (thus preventing the body from pumping blood to keep them animated - like _Avada Kedavra_ or a stake or a sword), they basically wouldn't die. That was, until the demon-virus within died naturally. Worple didn't know how long that would take, though, as no one had ever actually heard of the Vampire's demon-virus willingly terminating itself. Being a parasitic organism wholly self-interested in survival, it was quite possible that the demon-virus would simply _never_ want to die (which might account for why the bloody thing had been around in the human population for so long), forcing the host into an unwanted, eternal existence.

In Jeremy's specific case – and Su's, now that he thought on it - their mothers had conceived and bore them like any normal human: nine months in the womb and they were out squalling. Half-blood Vampires didn't necessarily follow the same rules as full-blood Vampires, he was discovering on his own. Unfortunately, it was true that he still carried the demon-virus within him, but it was a _greatly_ suppressed and altered version from the original, not even half as potent. That's why it lay dormant in both he and Su until their normal human bodies hit the change of puberty (as he'd discovered by talking with Su about their pasts). As soon as their body chemistries had changed, the demon-virus had woken up – been activated, as it were.

For Jeremy, his transformation (which had struck right at the tail end of his second year at Hogwarts and proceeded over the summer) had taken two full, awful months, instead of just days, as it would have for a full-blood Vampire, and he was in massive pain most of the time, going through his growth spurt simultaneously (he'd put on a full ten inches in that same period, his voice and his dick had matured, his bones all realigned for adulthood, and he'd sprouted hair in places he hadn't had any before). He'd needed to consume blood all the time during those eight weeks just to stand up straight because his demon-virus had woken up hungry. Because it wasn't half as efficient as its parent-self would have been (being merely a mutated form of the original demon-virus), his conversion process took a much longer period of time to complete as a result. And the psychological trauma had been equally as rough: he remembered crying every time he'd had to drink blood during those months, hating the flavor because it was cold in the vial, and hating the idea of consuming it at all, because it meant he was a monster - but craving it, _needing_ it nonetheless.

It was ironic in retrospect that it had been Su's matured blood that had saved his life then. If not for her, he'd probably have died, been destroyed by the transformation process ravaging through his systems.

After those two months, thankfully, he'd mastered the demon-virus within, his own body strong enough to dominate the parasite once he had made it safely past puberty. From that point forward, he'd kept _Vampirius _lulled into a torpor-like state, making sure it was thoroughly sated with rest and food (like an overstuffed student at the start of term feasts). However, when his energy levels dropped dramatically – as they had recently, as he'd opened the bond between him and Will to share his own lifeforce with the man to save him from death, and all of the subsequent activity he'd been engaged in to help his group re-establish some margin of safety around their new encampment – _Vampirius_ woke up… and it always demanded blood as payment, not simply content for food or sleep until it had met its satisfaction again.

He should be taking these needs from his mate's throat.

_Yessssss_, the monster in his mind hissed. _Ourssssssssssssssssss._

_Vampirius_ recognized his bond with Will. Mates, according to Worple's book, were part of _Vampirius_' strategy to keep its host alive. Being a highly evolved entity, the "creature" had come to realize over its long millennia of cohabitating with the human race that its hosts needed more than just physical sustenance to subsist. Man and woman needed at least one emotionally-fulfilling social relationship to take hope from and keep going; simply put, no man was an island unto himself. Living alone for countless centuries, as _Vampirius_ forced its host to do, watching as everything it loved aged and died around it while it did not change, inevitably lead that host to engage in suicidal tendencies – which effectively killed the demon-virus as well. Having come to understand this at some point in history, _Vampirius_ had (through centuries of trial and error, no doubt) adapted a coping mechanism for the host to assure that its emotional needs would be met: using the host's own pheromone and glandular chemistry, it created the aphrodisiac known as the _Jouisseur_.

When a host found a human it favored for companionship, _Vampirius_ triggered the _Jouisseur_ chemical, which the host then pumped into the companion's bloodstream. The aphrodisiac traveled throughout the companion's system, finally resting in the cerebellum fluid, permanently soaking into the pleasure center of the brain. Every time _Vampirius' _host and the companion chemically interacted (through skin touches, saliva or semen exchanges, or the host's one-sided blood drinking), the pleasure center was activated, setting the aphrodisiac chemical into firing off extra signals to the nerves. This had the effect of intensifying the pleasure of the companion, making them more susceptible to the host's 'suggestions' (specifically, the need for drinking blood from them). The added bonus was that when the aphrodisiac chemical was passed between the host and the companion time and again (by swapping spit or semen), it would also bring great pleasure to the host's nerves. In effect, it addicted the two to each other exclusively, making them crave being together as often as possible, thus satisfying the emotional and physical needs of the host, and providing the opportunity for the demon-virus to get its greedy little 'paws' on a continuous, fresh blood supply when needed.

The _Jouisseur_ also altered – ever so slightly – the recipient's magical aura, attuning them to their mate's electromagnetic 'frequency.' That's why mind magic between mates was so powerful – because they resonated on the same wavelength, allowing them easier access to each other's thoughts and magical powers. It was the reason Jeremy had been able to share his lifeforce with Will to save him.

The downside in his specific bonding relationship, however, had been his _Vampirius_' non-understanding that things between Jeremy and his companion were not working as intended. The demon-virus was constantly coaxing him (from the time it had 'awoken,' just a few days after Will had recovered, in fact) to get what it needed (i.e. blood) from Will, as intended from a mate. However, Will absolutely _did not_ want his lover to touch him in such a manner ever again, and it was for that reason that Jeremy had been avoiding his mate as much as possible over the past few weeks, sticking closer to Su instead.

And that was why he was now here in deader-than-dead Blessington on a Saturday night, hunting.

_Focussssss_, his _Vampirius_ reminded him, drawing his attention immediately to a young woman – who couldn't be more than eighteen years old - walking on the other side of the main street from where he currently was standing, having just left a corner market that was even now closing up shop.

He looked about for anyone else, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of taking someone whose aura was not in the least bit tainted by darkness. At this time of the night, despite it being a weekend, and in a town of a little more than 2,500 in population, however, the pickings were slim, and beggars couldn't be choosers.

Opening his mind, he sought out the young woman with a thought, found her susceptible to suggestion and sent out the idea that she should stop. She did after only two more steps, seemingly confused by her actions. He then directed her to carefully, casually walk towards him, enticing her with images of sexual pleasure if she followed his instructions. She came to him without protest, stopping less than half a meter away and looking up at his greater height with lusty, shimmering brown eyes. In the moonlight, they would normally appear a shade of black, but with his enhanced vision, he could see their color just fine.

"Hi," she breathed with a happy sigh.

"Hi," he returned in a low, sultry voice, trying to remain cool and collected, despite the fact his _Vampirius _was jumping for joy inside his head, knowing it was close to getting what it wanted. "You doing anything for the next hour?"

She shook her straw-blonde head. "No."

"Want to be?"

The dark-golden head bobbed up and down this time. "With you, yes."

Jeremy's mouth grew hot, his palms sweaty. His heart pounded like mad as the monster in his head now pulsed, pushed, and persuaded him.

_Sniffffffffffffff_, it bid him.

He stepped closer to the girl, inhaling her pretty lilac scent, bending his head to her ear. Yes, she smelled heavenly. In his head, his _Vampirius_ agreed.

One last thing… "Are you a virgin?" he asked her in a secret murmur, praying she'd say 'no.' Jeremy had made it a personal choice years ago not to take cherries for feedings, because sometimes drinking from a person, depending upon how much was necessary, led to sex, thanks to his _Vampirius'_ accursed bloodlust. Tonight, he was worried about not being able to control himself in that department, as his control was hanging by a thread already, and only made worse by standing so close to a willing vein, crazed with need as he was.

Her hair swished around her neck as she shook her head again. "No. I've been with a man once."

"Only once?" He winced. That was almost as bad as a virgin.

She nodded. "Once. A year ago. He was killed fighting that dark wizard's people."

His conscience was warring against his body's need suddenly, despite his _Vampirius'_ irritating chanting for him to stop listening and start drinking.

Could he let her go? It didn't feel right taking from someone so nice.

Quickly scanning the street up and down, he found a few more people in the local area, but most of them were already pissed at the bar down the way, and if there was something Jeremy absolutely couldn't tolerate, it was the blood of someone drunk off their arse, as it tasted horrible and was watered down. They would provide no nutriment for him - which meant he'd be back out on the streets tomorrow looking to find a second victim. The others out and about were in groups of twos or more, and he wouldn't be able to enthrall that many people with his thoughts already so tenuously suspended.

He looked down at the girl and inhaled deeply again. She smelled so fresh, so clean… He hadn't taken anything but stinking, rotten Death Eater collaborators for the past year and a half - aside from that one time with Will. His _Vampirius_ thrummed in response to the thought of having this lovely woman's blood in his mouth. She was such a small thing, though. He wouldn't be able to take much from her…

…but even a little would fix his problem for at least a couple of days. He could go back to camp and not endanger anyone.

_Takeeeeeeeee_, the demon-virus commanded.

Jeremy swallowed thickly and grabbed a hold of her hand without any further resistance, leading her towards an alley between two buildings, walking back far into the concealing shadows.

_No sex_, he insisted to his demon-virus, which was crowing with triumph in his head. _NO SEX. Just food. She's not ours to use as anything more._

Will's face flashed before his eyes, cutting into his heart effectively.

_Ourssssssssssssssssssss._

Jeremy sighed in sorrow, forcing the image away, tried to shut his guilt off for what he was about to take, shoving the pain away into the corner of his heart. _No, he's not really ours either._

_

* * *

_

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	20. Ch 19: Can't We Try?

**Chapter Nineteen: **_**Can't We Try…?**_

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Wednesday, October 18, 2000 (early morning)**

Blaise's headache was beginning to make his teeth ache, too. He and Stretton had been at the Animagi teaching and testing for the last three days, and aside from himself, Jeremy and Theodore Nott, they'd only discovered a small handful with the capability amongst their group so far: Tamisin Applebee (she could change into a lark), Anica Mainu (who impractically took the form of a dolphin), and Stephen Cornfoot, who'd told them before starting that his family's Native American religion had revealed his animal totem to him: the common raven (he had been right). The process was arduous, however, as everyone had to learn how to properly cast the spell first before they could discover whether they actually had a form or not, and that took a whole lot of practice and patience, as some people had the knack while others struggled with the complexities of envisioning themselves as an animal.

Of course, they'd been able to get together at any one time only half of the group (for everyone one else was busy with their duties – organizing for winter, cooking, scouting, foraging, and reconnaissance in the nearby towns or even as far as England for news). It was a very time-consuming process to arrange schedules to fit.

And there was still no news about any of the missing people from the Kirkwall camp, nor from the three men who'd snuck off in the night to invade The Fortress. Malfoy was becoming increasingly despondent, try as he might not to let anyone realize his private suffering. As the one who knew him the best, though, Blaise saw it in the darkening circles around his friend's eyes, and felt it in the trembling across his magical aura whenever the guy was near. Draco didn't give up though, finding time in between planning a counter-assault against the Death Eaters to Apparate around to locations he thought might hold clues to his witch's fate (and at the same time, getting the lay of the land and the positioning of their enemies).

That last greatly disturbed Blaise, and he continually fought with his friend about these lone-wolf expeditions, insisting that he take Stretton or Clearwater or Bradley with him for backup (which he occasionally did, but not always).

He felt her sidle up, take the seat to his right, knew who it was instantly and groaned internally, his headache flashing behind his closed lids. He rubbed the heels of his hands deeper into his eye sockets.

"I can help take that migraine away," Maxine offered with a purr, putting a chilly hand against his arm.

He sighed. He'd been avoiding this confrontation since his revelation about Pansy days before. O'Flaherty may have been a Hufflepuff at one time, but she was a tenacious little thing, sneaking into his tent late at night and trying to make a go with him. So far, he'd been able to excuse his reticence to resume their casual, sexual relationship by pleading exhaustion, but every day, her requests contained more of a desperate note to them, and he feared he'd made a huge mistake in bedding the woman initially. "Maxie, please," he begged off. "Not now."

His former lover's fingers stroked soothingly over his bicep, traveling to his shoulder. "I've got a draught for hangovers in my tent," she enticed in a sweet voice. "It works on headaches of all kinds, not just alcohol-induced ones. And then after…"

He laid his throbbing, aching head down on the table before him and hid his face in the cool darkness between his arms. Thankfully, the main pavilion was quiet during this time of the morning, just after breakfast was over and clean-up had been completed. Aside from himself and Maxie, only Orla Quirke had been sitting at the far end earlier, sipping coffee and relaxing for a bit before her next assignment, but she was gone now, leaving them alone in the tent. "It hurts to think, much less walk or fuck," he complained, his voice muffled by the sanctuary of his arms. "My head is splitting in two."

"But Blaise…" the whine began, and he cringed.

"Give it a rest, why don't you, Max?"

Blaise internally winced. The one person he'd wanted to be alone with for days just had to walk up right when another woman was propositioning him for sex. Oh, the irony.

"There's a group meeting in Parkes' tent to work together on the Animagi spell," Parkinson stated, subtly hinting that the woman should take a hike. "Why don't you go give them a hand?"

At his side, the pretty blonde was silent, her hand continuing to trail up and down his arm somewhat possessively.

"Now, Max." It was a couched insistence, said in an even, nonchalant tone, but still a command nonetheless.

O'Flaherty stood next to him. "Yes, m'am." With that, she hurried out of the tent, loyal to Pansy's lead, no matter the girl's personal desires.

"Thanks," Blaise grunted, trying to keep the flashing lights behind his eyes from making him nauseated. He'd liked his breakfast of eggs and muffins and strong Irish tea, and wanted to keep it down.

Parkinson was silent for a bit, and then he felt her settle into the chair at his left. Something was gently placed on the table before him; even the soft 'thunk' of that glass container being set down was too loud in his sensitive ears. "Drink it. It'll help."

At that point, Blaise would have done anything to rid himself of his pounding headache. With shaky fingers, he grabbed the small, flat-bottomed vial, uncorked it and gulped down the contents. It tasted horrid, making him gag slightly, but within a minute or two, his migraine was completely gone. "Wow, it's not poison," he joked, flashing a mischievous grin at his companion and putting the stopper back in the tube and pressing down with his thumb to assure it was resealed. He handed the glass back to her. "Thanks again. You're a miracle."

Their fingers grazed in the exchange of the vial, and Blaise purposefully stopped her from pulling away, holding them still for half a minute. Their dark eyes met; her raised eyebrow said she was curious as to his intentions.

"Have dinner with me tonight," he offered out of the blue, surprising even himself.

Pansy considered the request, then drew the glass tube – and her hand – out of his grasp and stood. "I'd rather thought that Max _a la mode_ would be on your menu later, and sorry, but I'm not into sharing meals."

She turned to go. Blaise reached out and grasped her hand, standing to his full height, towering over her. "Maxie hasn't been to my bed in over a week."

His once-rival pulled her hand from his grasp rather violently and sniffed in disdain. "Well, good for _her_. At least she's starting to show some common sense. I always warned her that bad boys would only break her heart."

She turned again to leave, and Blaise put himself immediately between her and the tent exit. "Is that how you see me?" he asked, stepping into her path again when she made to go around him. "A bad boy?" He crowded into her personal space with a smooth step, and pulled her into his arms with a very easy move. "I promise you, I'm not. I'm very, _very_ good, Pansy."

Brows lowered in confusion. "What game are you playing at, Zabini? Let me go this instant."

He shook his head. "No game, except… I'd like you to have supper with me today."

She sniffed in disdain. "And why would I want to? Last time I checked, we didn't like each other."

He quirked a brow himself. "We don't?" Tilting her chin up with his hand, he looked into her dark, glittering eyes. "I think maybe you've just been looking at the dynamics of our relationship the wrong way all these years."

Jerking her face away, she pushed him and stepped back at the same time, her face searching his for sincerity, her own a mask of bewilderment. "What's gotten into you?"

He sighed. "Do you know where the small shoreline is overlooking the lake, diagonal from camp, to the east?"

Pansy blinked, looked to the side to consider, and then nodded, glancing back at him. "What about it?"

He gave her his most award-winning smile. "I'll meet you there at six, sharp. Sun sets at about half-past, so don't be late. And come prepared with an appetite."

"I can't…" she began, then faltered as he turned on his heel and strode away for his daily, mid-morning meeting with Malfoy, whistling a jig Finnegan had once taught him, called "Red Is The Rose." It seemed rather apropos now, he thought, with some amount of unapologetic sap.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Wednesday, October 18, 2000 (early afternoon)**

Charlie gently rubbed Fay's abdomen in slow, loving circles in the afterglow of their earth-shattering love-making. His mind and heart were a riot of excitement and happiness.

His lover was carrying his child.

It had happened that night they'd first lain together, eight weeks previous, when he'd gone to her tent. She'd forgotten to cast the pregnancy charm, and he'd given her no time to rectify that failing, claiming her as his immediately - needing to make love to her more than any other consideration then. He didn't regret the oversight of the spell one bit. Theirs was a baby conceived in love.

"Can you feel it?" she whispered gently. "The aura? I think it's going to be a girl."

He _could_ feel the magical aura growing around the developing fetus inside her womb if he stretched out his aura to caress against his child's. A girl, definitely, and her aura was already quite powerful. "Yes, she's going to be strong with magic."

"Do you think she'll be like us?" his witch asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Charlie understood her trepidation in this case. Smoothing back the hair from her eyes, he kissed her pink, swollen lips gently. "If she is, the only thing we can do is try to guide her towards mental discipline and control. Unlike either of us, she'll have the benefit of two parents who understand and will have had loads of practice by then as to how to channel this energy."

Following up that statement with a demonstration, he nipped a trail down his beloved's throat, over her shoulder and around to her breast, finally taking one perfect nipple into his mouth. He suckled deeply, letting his tongue and lips leisurely romance her. At the same time, his fingers danced downwards, tickling her clit with the lightest of brushes.

He wanted her again. This would be three times today, and the day was only half over. Their record was eight times in twelve hours. _Insatiable_ didn't properly describe their need for each other. Being a Sex-Warlock in a relationship with a Sex-Witch was a-_fucking_-mazing!

Since neither had duties today, perhaps he'd find a way to set a new all-time high…

As if reading his thoughts, his sexy witch chuckled. "I love you, too, my voracious seducer."

Charlie let his tongue talk for him as he dipped between her legs once more, tasting his and her combined releases and groaning in what he was beginning to understand would always and forever be unquenchable desire for this woman.

He'd try his best to sate this consuming need temporarily, though - but with great care, not wanting anything to jeopardize his future wife's pregnancy, knowing that their baby was going to be very important someday in rebuilding the broken world left behind by Lord Mort once he was finally defeated.

"Hope," he murmured against Fay's lips as he slowly slid their aching, desperate bodies together again, making them one being. "Her name will be Hope."

His beloved nodded, tears pouring down her cheeks as Fay clung to him, surrendering herself completely – soul, body and mind, just as he did - to the power of their love once more.

Yes, his sweet, baby Hope would someday heal the world, both Wizard and Muggle alike, he was determined. She would help rebuild and teach them all how to begin again.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**A Cottage (unknown location)**_

**Unknown Date (sometime in mid-to-late October, 2000, late afternoon)**

Cormac had not returned to Hermione's side for four days, and in all that time, she had been seeking a way out of his house without tripping his wards, to no avail. The blanketing protection spells were incredibly strong, not just repelling from her leaving (the spell was a solid wall around the entirety of the house from her side, unbreakable), but also preventing all living things from getting in (she'd watched in horror yesterday as the wards had eviscerated a hapless bird that had flown too close).

Basically, without a wand, she was truly trapped and at McLaggen's mercy.

Her only companion in those days was the little snake ring. She'd asked it all sorts of questions, of course, and it had answered as it was able, given its restricted ability to converse; one squeeze for 'yes', two for 'no', and in addition, they'd agreed upon three squeezes for 'maybe', and four for 'unknown'. Its broader knowledge of the world was severely limited and somewhat disjointed, however, which made their conversations very difficult and frustrating at times. The ring didn't seem to have specific information on her location, whether the rest of her group was alive or dead, how to break out of the wards, or even whether Cormac was ever coming back. It was fuzzy on a lot of salient points about history, too, especially concerning where it came from and how long it had been in the Malfoy family's keeping. It couldn't answer how it had known to bite McLaggen, or what spell or poison it had used on the former Tracker, or even why it had never informed Draco Malfoy, its former master, of its abilities.

Queerly, it also didn't know who Lord Mort was, or that the Ministry had fallen along with Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and although it claimed to recognize names like Harry Potter, Seamus Finnegan, Anthony Goldstein, Lavender Brown, Hestia Carrow, Luna Lovegood, Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Minerva McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, and Percy Weasley, it had not been aware of the deaths of those individuals. It did not know that all owls and other magical creatures living in the Forbidden Forest – including the Unicorns and the Acromantulas – had been killed for food by Fenrir Greyback's werewolf army, and that the Centaurs and the Giants throughout Europe and Hogwarts' lake's giant squid and its Merfolk had been wiped out entirely. It did not know that Mort had been on a crusade to flush out and finish off all Vampires, and that the herds of Thestrals and winged horses and the dragons had taken to the skies and left Britain or else been slaughtered.

In a nutshell, it did not know that Lord Mort's rise to power had heralded the end of the Age of Enlightenment and Freedom, and that the world as she knew it had been thrust into a second Dark Ages.

What it _did_ know was the identities of almost every person she was acquainted with, confirming people like Neville Longbottom, Viktor Krum, Penelope Clearwater, Pansy Parkinson, Willem Bradley, the Weasleys, and even Albus Dumbledore (the ring _did_ know the former Headmaster was dead). It knew all of the former teachers of Hogwarts and recognized the name 'Voldemort,' as well as a few of the core Death Eaters. It knew what Diagon Alley and Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks and Quidditch were, it knew what a wand was and what it was used for, what a dragon and a blast-ended skrewt and an Animagus were, too. It knew very basic things, and most of that information seemed to revolve around her sphere of influence. It was also very clear that she needed to get outside the wards of this house, away from Cormac McLaggen and back to her people _immediately_. On that, she and the ring were in unquestionable accord.

Yet, try as she might to find a way out, no work-around to the 'no wand' problem was forthcoming (she'd even tried taking up the flooring in the single closet the second day without word from her captor, only to find impenetrable concrete underneath). So, for the last few hours, she'd been bored off her rocker, twiddling her thumbs. Hermione didn't idle well.

She'd looked high and low for paper and a writing implement, but could find none, so there was no chance of her keeping a journal of her time, or of recording her thoughts about this situation in which she had unexpectedly found herself. There were no books, no radio, no television, and no board games. Not even a deck of cards for solitaire. She tried playing single-man Cat's Cradle with a bootlace at one point, but found it to be almost impossible to achieve; you definitely needed a partner to pull it off. Then, in a fit of utter restlessness, she'd rearranged the cupboards and her clothes, coordinating by type, then color, and then stoked up the fire.

At least she wouldn't starve to death anytime soon. Miracle of miracles, she had more than enough food; there were shelves of canned soup and vegetables, air-tight containers of dried croutons for bread, bags of dried fruits and nuts, and fresh water still came in through the pipes, allowing her to drink and bathe and use the loo. Cor had obviously stocked her for a long stay… which got her wondering what his ultimate plans were for her.

Just as she was using the utensils and crockery around the place as visual aids to helping her brainstorm over ideas regarding the whole Mort-Deathly Hallows thing (where _were_ the Invisibility Cloak and Resurrection Stone anyway?), her jailer finally reappeared.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione whirled about so quickly that she nearly dropped the plate in her hands. "Merlin's shorts, _must_ you sneak around?" she demanded in a near shriek at Cormac. She gripped the area over her left breast. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

One golden eyebrow raised in surprise. "If I wore a bell around my neck to forewarn you of my comings and goings, you'd just find a way to use that to your advantage to get my wand from me."

It was said so matter-of-factly, as if Cormac knew the inner workings of her mind better than she, herself, did, that for a moment, Hermione was floored. "Well, when you put it that way…" she hedged. "I suppose I can understand." In an instant, her ire caught up to the circumstances. "Where have you been? Four days without contact! You didn't even have the decency to leave me a deck of cards or a magazine!"

Now that handsome smirk worked its way up the left side of his cheek – so much like Malfoy's in that instant that Hermione was taken aback. "Ah, bored to tears. That explains the play time with the cutlery and dinner service." He looked at the pattern of items she'd sent down on the floor, each item representing in her mind a person and showing their patterns of intertwining relationships. His eyes scanned the design. "Charting out something, are you?"

Unnerved by McLaggen's correct analysis, Hermione bent and began disturbing the configuration of plates, bowls, glasses, mugs and silverware, not wanting to give too much away. Thank goodness she hadn't had a means to make labels else he'd probably have surely guessed her intent. "It was something to do."

Her captor moved into the room fully then, careful to keep her in his line of sight always and remain just a few steps out of reach. In one hand, he firmly held his wand. In the other, he had a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. At the dining table, he put both items down, watching her as he opened and emptied his catch. From her position on the floor, she couldn't quite see what spilled out. She pretended, in fact, not to care, although her every sense was attuned to Cormac, just in case.

As she rose to her full height again, carrying the heavy stack of ceramics and silver first, she made her way into the mini kitchen area to put them back where they belonged. "So, where _have_ you been?"

"Haven't figured a way out yet, hmm?" he countered, dodging her question neatly.

Careful to keep her rising anger in check, she gently shut the cabinet door when finished, then turned to collect the glasses and mugs. Carrying them a few at a time she managed to get the full set back to without breaking a single one. Allowing that bit of time to calm her racing blood had done wonders for keeping her voice even when she finally addressed his query. "You know as well as I that there is no way out without a wand."

He glanced up at her and nodded once solemnly, confirming her suspicions. "It's the only way to protect you."

Crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the kitchen counter, Hermione stared crossly back at him. "And why should you care about such a thing, _Tracker_?"

Sniffing in disgust, he looked back down at the stack of… oh dear God, they were _books_!

"I'm not serving Mort any longer. You saw to that."

"So, I'll ask you again: what changed your mind?" she pressed. "Tell me why in the seven layers of Hell should I believe anything you've said to me at all?"

His fingertips ran over the cover of the top book, but he did not meet her gaze. "I could see how you would think that this might all be some elaborate scheme. After all, I could be fixing you up to try to gain your sympathies, so that when you're fully healed, you could take me with you. I could be hoping you'd let me fight at your side after that - that you'd give me the chance to redeem myself, to find my honor again. To help me save my soul."

"Or, to lead you directly to the resistance so you could wipe us all out in one fell swoop," she commented sarcastically, although deep in her heart, doubt had crept in. Cormac _seemed _sincere.

_Is he trying to trick me?_ she asked her little friend on her finger.

There was an unusual pause of several seconds, and then one hesitant squeeze, followed by three hesitant squeezes, then four. _Yes._ _Maybe. Unknown._

_Which is it? _

The ring was oddly silent. Apparently, Cormac did have a plan of some kind, but the snake couldn't determine whether that plan was different from the one he'd just stated or if there was more to it that McLaggen was holding back.

One squeeze.

Ah, so the ring had sniffed out _some_ truth from her captor, but couldn't discern its meaning.

One squeeze.

Not exactly an ideal answer, but at least she knew that some of what Cormac had said was genuine.

One squeeze.

"Do you want me to save you?" she finally asked her former tormentor. "Is that what this is about, Cor? Are you looking to atone by switching sides now?"

He swallowed thickly; his larynx bobbed up and down twice before he answered. Still his eyes didn't turn to her. "And if I did? Am I irredeemable now? Can a man never find salvation for his sins?"

She let that inquiry lie between them for a few moments, contemplating the depth of such a profound question.

_Does he want me to save him?_ she asked her magical companion.

One squeeze.

_Should I?_

There was a long pause, lasting at least two minutes. Neither she nor her former Housemate spoke, and the ring was still. Finally, it gave one hesitant squeeze.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out shakily, closing her eyes.

Good gods above, could she really do this? Could she forgive Cormac McLaggen for all the evil he'd unleashed upon the world – upon her? He'd raped her twice. He'd raped Pansy. He'd murdered at the command of the Devil himself. He'd served evil.

Of course, he'd done all of that because he'd failed to fend off the most powerful Legilimens in the world, as well as the most powerful Sex-Witch in over five hundred years. Up against odds like that, how could a person possibly win?

Was it fair to compare his lack of resolve – an eighteen year old man at the time – to the likes of the aged, wise, powerful Pomona Sprout, who had died before giving into the conversion process? Was it fair to blame him for being brainwashed so thoroughly and being manipulated by the compelling allure of dark magic – both at Mort's hands, and at Phaedra's?

_She'd_ only been touched once, lightly, by Pansy's mother and it had nearly driven her to lustful trespasses with Theo in front of a small audience that first day she'd gone in disguise to The Madam's House. And the woman's touch on Cor's cheek had controlled him – a trained Tracker - so completely the day that she and Theo had been captured that the simple command of, _"the woman is yours - go take her as you've always wanted,"_ had been enough to force him back to Hermione's side and do as commanded, despite the lack of physical contact with the Sex-Witch.

_Draco, what would you do? Help me to decide._

Surprisingly, it wasn't the man she loved who answered her. It was Harry. His voice came in loud and clear through her head for the first time in weeks.

_He'll help you to defeat me. Use him._

She gasped, so surprised was she by the unexpected intrusion, and gripped her head. A residual echo of pain washed across her skull as her best friend's voice faded out. "Harry?"

The cottage was silent, as she mentally sought out her friend, but couldn't sense his presence any longer.

"He's found you," Cormac hissed, his voice and body quaking with instant fear. Moving quickly, he grabbed up his wand from the table and with a wave and an utterance under his breath, Hermione felt the magic in the air shift. Jetting across the distance to her, giving her no time to react except to backpedal until her bum hit the far wall, Cormac pinned her in place, one arm pressing with strength into the center of her chest, his body aligned and too close so that she couldn't knee him in the groin. "This is going to hurt, but it's the only way to throw him off. Sorry."

His wand touched her temple and he spoke again too low for her to catch the spell he cast, and the next thing she felt was ice exploding through her brain. She was vaguely aware of screaming, and then nothing but darkness.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Wednesday, October 18, 2000 (evening)**

Pansy checked herself a last time in the floor-length mirror she'd taken from her Bag of Holding. Perfection – alluring, a little slutty, but overall romantic. It was a good look on her, if she had to be honest about it.

Gah! Why was she getting so gussied up for Zabini? Why was she even agreeing to meet him for a… a… date? Why, why, why was she allowing herself to be so stupidly vulnerable?

Oh yeah, because she wanted to fuck the man. Because she'd seen him naked and using that huge, sexy tool of his with an expertise that made her mouth water and her knickers sopping. Because she couldn't stop her eyes from traveling over him when he was near, searching for him across the camp when he wasn't, fingering herself to thoughts of him in her cot at night, and dreaming about him when her conscious mind rested and her unconscious desires took over her brain. That's why.

Ergh, it was so… so… utterly unbelievable that she'd be so obsessed over BLAISE _consummate man-slag and continual mental irritant_ ZABINI!

She pulled the bottom of her skin-tight, lavender-colored cashmere sweater down, allowing for a bit more cleavage to show. Then, she rechecked her hair, turning this way and that to see all sides in the mirror.

Earlier this afternoon, after _much_ internal debate, lower lip nibbling, and furious pacing back and forth, she'd decided to employ on herself some of that potion that she'd once-upon-a-time used on Granger, and grew her hair out so that it touched her mid-back. Her sable-colored hair had a natural wave to it once it was allowed a more feminine length; pinning it up on the sides with two diamond-studded large barrettes and letting the ends trail over her shoulders made her appear sixteen all over again. She hadn't worn it like this since Sixth Year and was, honestly, a little pleased with how much softer it made her features.

She decided upon light make-up, too, in a scary-bold move meant to remake herself more into the woman she wanted to be now that she'd left her mother's employ (permanently) behind. A light powdering cover, muted beiges on her lids with only the barest hint of a bronzy shimmer, thin liner, and gently teased lashes gave her a fresh, more vitalized appearance. With her lipstick, however, she'd gone daring – a confident crimson, that challenged kissing. She'd also sprayed herself lightly with one of her favorite French perfumes – an exotic blend that smelled of oriental musk and spices.

Her clothes and jewelry were another matter. It wouldn't do for Zabini to think she'd completely abandoned her sanity, so she stuck to her typical jewelry (modest, but calming amethyst on her ears and hand and around her neck) that nice, tight cazh jumper and a pair of tight, black leather pants that she'd borrowed from Su and magi-tailored to fit (the girl's hips were far too skinny to be fully human). On her feet, she transfig'd her black, leather boots to be tight, haute-rocker style, ending at mid-calf. The heel was comfortably chunky enough so she could walk, but high enough to give her legs some shape, adding an extra three inches to her height (at least then she'd be at a good height for some kissing action… maybe). The entire outfit screamed casual, but fuck me anyway.

"You can do this," she told herself in the mirror. "If it turns out to be one big prank, you can always hex his naughty bits."

She looked at her winter jacket, and thought she'd leave it be. It was warm and utilitarian and given out the rest of the outfit wasn't, _per se_, she could at least give herself some comfort.

At five fifty-nine on the dot, she raised her wand and Apparated to the location Blaise had indicated, having walked the entire circumference of the lake as one of her earlier duties, and hence knew of the tucked-away, secretive cove.

With a pop, she appeared and looked about, her eyes immediately drawn to a light source off to her left. It was coming from inside a small tent. Crossing the semi-packed sand, she cautiously approached, pushing back the canvas flaps and looking in, wand at the ready.

"No need for that right now," Zabini amusedly informed her from his seat on the floor. He was sitting on what looked to be a Moroccan couch. In front of him, on a table that stood no higher than kneeling height, were two place settings with silver dish covers over them to keep the food warm, and two utensil and water glass settings. To the side there burned a candle, and there was a small bud vase containing a tiny bundle of purple flowers that looked like _very_ late-blooming Bloody Cranesbills. There also appeared to be a silver bucket chilling wine on a small stand and a small table next to that which contained an assortment of Muggle liquor bottles as well as two crystal wine goblets. "Come in."

Hesitantly, Pansy did as bade, and her partner waved his wand over the tent entrance, tying the flaps down securely to prevent the cold from seeping in. Indeed, inside the tent, it was very warm, and Pansy quickly unzipped her jacket, shedding it and tossing it onto the back of a second couch, which was situated directly across from her date's own.

"Join me," her date crooned, leaning back rather sexily against his couch, one knee brought up so his hand rested lazily across it. He was dressed like her – casually seductive – in black slacks and a dark green button-down dress shirt that looked to be made of silk. He wasn't wearing any shoes or socks, she noted absently, but given the comfortably warm temperature inside, he probably wasn't suffering, either.

Crossing the few steps to her side of the table, she took a seat, folding her legs under her, as that was the only comfortable position in leather pants, she discovered.

Zabini's gaze roamed over her for a moment. "I like," he practically purred. "Your hair is much softer this way. Very lovely."

Pansy's heart did a triple-fast beat. Well, at least _that _effort wasn't wasted.

"Your make-up…" he noted, assessing her, tilting his head to take her in. "I like this better, too. You look more like the real you."

For the first time in years, Pansy felt a blush heating her cheeks. "Are you insinuating that I've been a fraud prior to tonight?" She knew he wasn't, but she was so very uncomfortable in that moment - hearing her former rival compliment her not just once, but twice now - that her defenses were on high alert.

The handsome wizard looked at her for a moment, his face inscrutable. "The person you've had to pretend be the last few years - that was the Pansy Parkinson who did what she had to so she could protect her own and survive. It was all an act. The Pansy Parkinson before me now - this is the woman who should have been, had none of that happened."

Her brows lowered in consternation and her hackles went up over his ability to so easily strip her emotions bare with such little effort. "But it _did_ happen. You can't change that fact, no matter how you pretty it up. If it bothers you that I've shagged a lot of men, then say so now so we won't either of us waste any more time. And let's just be clear up front, Zabini: I've been fucked into the bedsprings by loads of men - at least fifty, if not more - and I've done everything you can possibly think of as sexually degrading and depraved, all to stay alive. If you can't handle that, then I think it would be best I left now before we take this any further."

Her former Housemate stared at her evenly, his emotions and thoughts very tightly controlled. "Does it bother me that you were abused so terribly at the hands of others? Yes, of course it does. And it frustrates me, too, because I know I'm going to have to work extra hard to win your trust, because you've become a right cynical bird as a result. Does it bother me that others have fucked you before me? Of course. I'm a jealous man, dove - can't help my nature. But I really have no stones to throw in that glass house, either, as I've shagged more than my fair share. Do I find you disgusting because of, or resent you for, any of it?" He paused, sat up straight and captured her attention directly across the table with the most forthright stare she'd ever received – one that looked straight into her soul. "No. _Absolutely not._ You're a survivor and I admire your stubborn-bitch will to live. It's one of the reasons I want you so badly. I _like_ how you fight, Parkinson - I like it _a lot_."

To her horror, tears wavered before Pansy's eyes and fell hotly, quickly down her cheeks before she could stop them. She stared in astonishment at the man sitting across from her, her heart slamming into the back of her throat, her mouth having gone dry, and her mind one, riotous mess. Did he mean it? Could she trust him?

Slytherin's soul, she wanted to! Desperately, she wanted a normal relationship with a man who understood her for who she was – the whole, ugly package. Blaise seemed to get the score; she was sure his imagination was honed enough to be able to visualize her past well enough. He didn't appear to hold any of it against her, either, but only time would tell whether such ready acceptance would remain constant or whether the facts about her history and the psychological damage it had left behind would eventually scare him off.

Truth be told, though, she _wanted_ this man before her, and she was tired of fighting it. She'd done nothing for weeks but pleasure herself to thoughts of him in her lonely cot at night, and in that time, her ideas about him had shifted dramatically. He was no longer her enemy. He was a partner, one she relied upon (like the others in their group) to survive this war. She trusted him with her physical safety, so was it that much bigger a stretch to do so her heart?

The thought both terrified and electrified her.

"If you're using me for a temporary, cheap thrill, I'll castrate you," she promised in a low rasp, making the expected capitulation, but on her personal, no-nonsense terms.

Blaise's dark eyes softened and he gave her a small, almost shy smile that made butterflies erupt in her tummy. "I'm not, dove. I promise."

She nodded, and with that, a deal was struck between them.

Reaching for the wine bucket, Blaise grabbed up the bottle, pulled the cork (which had been already removed, but reset to keep the air from spoiling the flavor) and poured her a glass. "Drink and eat with me, dove. We'll sit and talk all night." He grinned very mischievously and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'll try to seduce you, of course. You'll turn me down, though only because it's just our first date, and so I'll insist on a second so you can give me another shot at it."

Pansy wiped away her tears, feeling her mouth uncontrollably tugging with humor up her cheeks. "Will I now? What if I decide I don't like the way you chat me up?"

Blaise shook his head rather arrogantly, and put the bottle back on ice. "We'll kiss, of course, and that will change your mind instantly when you realize what a very talented smoocher I am." He lifted the silver covers off of the two plates. "Of course, you'll also realize that I'm a fabulous cook after tasting tonight's meal, and the opportunity to sample my next culinary sensation will be the mark that tips the scales in my favor. You'll agree to a second date then."

The wafting scent of roasted pork cutlets and apples and cinnamon immediately assaulted Pansy's nose, making her stomach rumble and her mouth water in anticipation. There was a large dollop of mashed potato next to the main entrée, as well as what looked to be fresh green beans with almond slices and cranberries. The presentation was flawless, each item laid out in perfect portion size. "Wow, you really did all this yourself?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as she placed her napkin across her lap. "You didn't get Morag to help you? This looks like something she'd make."

Zabini shook his head. "She suggested the menu, I admit, but I did all the cooking myself." He smirked proudly. "Wait until you see desert – apple-cranberry crumble." He raised his raspberry-colored, sparkling wine goblet in a toast. "To a brilliant first date, dove."

With a shaky hand, Pansy raised her glass as well and they clinked together gently. "Let's hope so."

With that, the night commenced exactly as Zabini had conjectured.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Thursday, October 19, 2000 (morning)**

It was Will's turn to learn the Animagi spell so he could begin practicing it and discover if he had the innate talent or not. This meant he'd be very close to Jeremy for the entire morning. A part of him tingled with the thought. The other part felt positively ill with worry. What if he couldn't hold his compelling desires back this time? What if they touched? His eyelids slid shut at the thought, and he felt his heart jack behind his ribs.

Bloody hell, just imagining the man's skin brushing against his had him harder than steel, that spark deep inside flaring back to life in an instant. His gums and the wings of his shoulders began to ache again, and behind his eyelids, a golden light flashed, signaling the beginnings of a migraine.

Adjusting himself in his Muggle jeans, tugging his shirt hem down to cover the evidence of his arousal, he forced himself towards inner calm after a few minutes of meditation and a prayer to God for strength. The headache receded, as did the dull pulsing twinges throughout his body. Feeling as prepared as he could be, he opened his eyes, stood up, grabbed his wand and jacket, and made his way out towards the staging area, where the small group of five, plus his two instructors, would meet.

Anna Mirfield, Parvati Patil and Terry Boot were already there, standing about chatting in the shadowed copse of trees on the outskirts of camp, their breath wraith-like on the chill air. "It'll be snow in a week or two at most," he heard Terry proclaim cheerfully. He was fiddling with a dry pine cone, tossing it between his hands. "I can't wait! I haven't seen snow in years."

Will stopped as he came up beside the man, leaning his large body against the tree to his left, practically towering over the wizard. Boot was about five inches shorter than he, of a slight, willowy, Fae-like build with very pale skin that hadn't seen the sun directly in a long time (as he'd pointed out, having been trapped inside The Madam's House). His auburn-brown, straight, sleek hair had been cut since they'd moved to the new campsite, although he'd kept the bangs long in front and on the sides. With eyes the color of summer skies – blue with motes of white cut through, so they practically sparkled – and high cheek bones and lips that were made for kissing, he could easily be mistaken for an effete man. His hands, though, were elegant, long, well-manicured and all-male.

Strangely, Will wasn't in the least bit attracted to the guy, despite his handsomeness and the allure of his lingering, fresh soap-smell. Still, he was good for a laugh and fun conversation.

"Wait until you're standing in it on sentry duty for hours before you make that comment," he cynically predicted. "Even with heating charms and fur-lined clothes, the cold sucks. It has a way of seeping into your bones. Magic can't hold back God's Nature."

Terry grinned up at him. "I'm _so_ hitting you with a snowball. Maybe it'll help lighten you up some."

Chuckling, Will shook his head. "Try it and I'll plow you under."

He should have realized how that sexually-charged sounded, but Will rarely censored his words before they came out and he never played at double-speak; he was honest like that. Boot, on the other hand, was always looking for innuendo to twist with his brand of lecherousness. Despite being in an unofficial relationship with Julie Parkes, Terry was a known bi-sexual who had loved going the rounds with anything on two legs that gave him the time of day. The two facts together were enough to create an opportunity too good for the former male prostitute to deny.

Turning into Will's personal space in a smooth, unexpected move, Terry dropped the pine cone and grabbed the front of Will's jacket, hauling him in until they practically touched noses. "I'd love for you to plow me under, big guy. Whaddaya say?" He waggled his eyebrows at Will, smirking lasciviously.

With hardly a chance to react, Will was leaning his head away and about to push Terry off him when he felt Jeremy suddenly appear at his side. Between one blink and the next, Boot was pulled away and lifted off his feet, one hand firmly gripping his neck, choking him.

"Hands off my mate," Jeremy snarled, his face a mask of fury, his eyes glowing red.

Terry's face was purpling as he choked, and his fists furiously tried to beat off Jeremy's iron hold, to no avail. Will stepped up, grabbed his former lover from behind in a bear hug, and tried to get him to loosen up. "Jeremy, stop!" he shouted right next to the guy's face, their cheeks rubbing against each other in the struggle. "Let him go!"

Just like that, Terry was dropped, landing with a hard thump and crumpling up on the ground, gasping for breath - and leaving Will's body wrapped around his half-Vampire lover. Immediately, Stretton's entire body melted into the embrace and he turned his head so their lips touched. A strange quivering ran down the length of Will's spine at the intimate gesture. He froze, his heart exploding in his chest like a baby rabbit's in pure terror as Jeremy pressed the moment, turning the brush of lips into a full-on kiss.

The next thing Will knew, he was pushed up against the same tree he'd been leaning upon earlier and his mate's tongue was in his mouth, thrusting away in desperate urgency, his mouth feasting at his in frantic distress. Jer's fingers were twining in Will's hair, grabbing on tight and anchoring them both, and the anguished moaning of his mate was as loud as the sound of his own heartbeat.

In a state of pure shock, Will couldn't make his limbs move; he couldn't close his eyes or blink, and he couldn't push himself away. Hell, he couldn't even _think_. The feel of the heavy, seductive weight of Jeremy's hard, recklessly provocative body grinding itself into him devastated his senses, made him utterly defenseless.

_Want_, a voice rose up inside him from that same dark well within his soul where the spark – now a full-on flame – ignited to life. Blood pounded through Will's body, the pain he'd experienced earlier magnified tenfold, causing him to break out in a sweat. The 'thing' inside seemed to pull itself awake after what seemed an eon of enforced sleep and looked through his eyes at what was happening. _Yes, want. WANT._

_Oh, God, yes_, he answered himself, and with a whimper of surrender, he dropped his mental shields and returned the kiss with equal ardor. The familiar, fiercely yearned-for taste of his beloved overwhelmed Will's senses in an instant, dragging him down into the excruciating, devouring depths of passion once more. _Jeremy…_

_I love you, Will. I love you so much that my soul cries out for you. You own me. I am yours._

His mate's presence in his mind after so long going without, touching upon him mentally with an equally overriding ardor, shattered Will's agonized heart. He felt his scalding, guilt-laden tears drip down his cheeks. They had to stop. This obsessive love would destroy them both!

It took Zabini's angry voice to shatter the frightening-exhilarating moment. "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Jeremy didn't seem to hear or care about the proceedings, but Will was snapped back into himself. With renewed strength, he pushed Jeremy off of him and turned away, feeling his face explode with heat, slamming shut the mental shields between him and his mate once more, crushing that flame in his chest and locking the 'other' away. "Oh, God!" he sobbed, clinging to the rough bark of the tree to stabilize himself and to hide his bulging erection. He was sprung so hard and tight that he _hurt_. "Get me away from him!" he all but shouted.

"Fucking hell, Stretton! What's going on?" Blaise demanded, even as Anna came to Will's side to gently soothe him with a light touch on his arm. "What happened to Terry?"

Shamed, Will turned his concern to Boot's prone form on the forest floor. The man had been harmed by Jeremy for merely teasing, and Will hadn't done anything to help him! While he'd been snogging out, Terry had lain in pain – and all because of him! Fortunately, Parvati had come to the rescue; she was just completing a healing charm on the man's throat, and as he watched, the ugly hand-shaped bruise across the wizard's pale throat was disappearing, and he was breathing normally. His eyes though… they looked between Will and Jeremy with fear.

"Terry, I'm sorry," Will apologized, tormented with his unwitting culpability in the trouble. "I had no idea…" Righteous anger heated his blood exponentially, and he turned his head to stare at the true responsible party. "He was only playing around! Even _I_ knew that."

Jeremy's eyes were wide and all of his limbs trembled. "I-I couldn't stop it." He looked at his hands as if they were foreign mandibles attached to his arms – things he'd never seen before and didn't want now. "I'm… sorry. I couldn't stop it."

Su suddenly appeared in a whirl of color. The beautiful Asian woman flung her long hair over her shoulder and immediately closed the distance between her and Jeremy, putting a hand on his arm in solidarity and in an attempt to comfort. With an anguished cry, Will's mate turned and embraced the woman, pressing his face into her shoulder and shuddering. Li sighed, turning angry eyes on Will first, then Blaise.

"He has been fighting his true nature out of respect for his mate's feelings," she explained indignantly, her loyalties clearly marked for all to see, unabashed in their sincerity and faithfulness. Once more, jealousy gripped Will's gut, and he turned his face away, swallowing back his mortification. "He has not been feeding the Vampire within properly. It has awoken again," the woman continued. "It is beginning to become too strong for the man to counter. Its feelings are overwhelming. Jeremy will not be able to deny them much longer."

Out of his peripheral vision, Will watched Blaise's dark gaze swing in his direction. "So do something about it," the man bit out, before bending over Terry to give him a helping hand to his feet. "Bradley, you and Su help Stretton to control his Vampire." He turned to spear Will with a hard, threatening glance. "Or so help me Merlin, I'll destroy him myself. I won't let him become a monster and kill us all."

That 'other' deep within Will blew its top at that statement, and with righteous fury, he snarled at his commander. "Try it, and I'll kill _you,_" he promised, his words backed by power, seeming to reverberate in the small glade. The tree he leaned against shook with the force of his vehemence, dislodging pine needles, which fell with a sharp crackling as their rigid spines snapped in the icy, morning air.

Blaise didn't look in the least bit intimidated by the show of strength, but he did cock an eyebrow. "Take care of it so it won't come to that, Willem. I mean it. Now get lost. You're excused from today's lesson. You'll get your new duty roster tomorrow."

Backing down, his fury bleeding away just as quickly as it had come upon him, Will took a last look at Jeremy, noting the man was still securely wrapped in Su Li's arms, and before he could say anything that would make matters worse, he turned on his booted heel and stalked off back to his tent. He berated himself and cursed out Jeremy inside his head the whole way, and when he reached his cot, he removed his boots, sealed shut the curtains, cast a Silencing Charm and lay back in his bunk, giving into his basest desires. It only took a few strokes and the memory of Jeremy's soft, insistent tongue rasping against his to spill his seed all over his hand and belly, and only a few seconds more for the tears to come again.

Cleaning up with a wave of his wand, Will gently tucked his tired, flaccid member back into his pants, rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, telling himself over and over that it had been a mistake – merely a slip-up. It wouldn't happen again. It couldn't.

"_I love you, Will. I love you so much that my soul cries out for you. You own me. I am yours."_

The memory of Jeremy's beautifully haunting words rang out in his head, making his heart break all over again.

"Heavenly Father, please help me not to love him anymore," he whispered the plea to the God he had recently, tentatively begun to attempt a relationship with again. "He belongs with Su. She's just like him, and she's been waiting for him all these years and… and she _loves_ him. It's so obvious. So, please, _please_ help me to stop wanting him, so I can let him go."

_Want. _

That one selfish word kept echoing around in his head, highlighting the crux of his entire problem. In order to let Jer go, Will knew he'd have to not want him anymore, but Christ help him, he _did_ want the man who had stolen his heart and who held the key to his physical and emotional desire. He wanted this too-tempting, forbidden fruit very, _very _much, and he hated himself for sharing Adam's weakness in this way. "But I don't want this _sin,_" he sobbed, bleeding his love into his pillow.

_Want,_ the weakened 'other' repeated before retreating back into confines of his soul once more.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

**Thursday, October 19, 2000 (early afternoon)**

Philip lay back in his bunk in his assigned quarters in the former Hufflepuff cellar, allowing himself a moment's self-congratulations. He'd managed to kill eight Snatchers and three Death Eaters with that little poisoning trick the other week (and he'd made it looked like an accidental rancid-meat poisoning, rather than by unnatural causes), and tonight, he'd successfully slipped into the food for the prisoners a Restorative and Wit-Sharpening Potion combination.

He had a plan, finally. It had all come to him after he'd snuck about the castle, gathering intelligence by observation.

He'd noted that some of Mort's followers would occasionally pull prisoners out of their cells for 'humiliation training' – which amounted to little more than rape and physical torture sessions anywhere and at any time by any number of loyalists. It was during one of these fuck-fests two days ago that he'd finally seen the faces of the spy – or spies, in this case – who had infiltrated their camp at Kirkwall, and who had been responsible for killing Anthony Rickett.

He'd been walking through the covered stone walkway that surrounded the Inner Courtyard, on his way towards the Entrance Hall when he'd heard the cackle of a witch, followed by two men moaning. Careful not to draw attention to himself, he quietly moved against the wall and stole a glance around one of the arched openings that looked inward on the quad. That's when he'd seen them: Megan Jones and Oliver Wood were torturing Adrian Pucey.

Pucey was on his knees on the hard, cold slate, completely naked in the chill wind, his back bloodied from what looked like a whipping, and he was sucking Oliver's cock with gusto. Jones was clearly in charge; the wench commanded her co-conspirator to fuck Pucey's mouth hard and come deep down his throat. To his amazement, Adrian actually seemed to like his own oral rape, moaning and swallowing eagerly as Wood did as ordered, grabbing Pucey's hair on both sides and slamming between the man's sucking lips, ejaculating with a loud cry after only a few passes, his dick shoved all the way to the hilt inside his lover's warm, welcoming cavern. For a moment, Philip thought that perhaps all three of them had tricked the group, and that Pucey was merely into some sick S&M shite on top of it all, but then Megan had opened her mouth and let slip the secret that explained everything:

"_Adrian, darling, would you like to be buggered by our resident Sex-Warlock next? Oliver's very good at fucking, and he does whatever I tell him to. Don't you my sweet, obedient pet?"_

Wood had turned mechanically towards the witch he served and with deadened eyes, nodded once. "Yes, Mistress," he'd intoned, his lilt slightly slurred. His flushed cheeks and pinched expression were horrid to behold, because Philip comprehended in those seconds that Oliver Wood was _not_ exhibiting the signs of contentment after a really good climax. Inside his head, the man was obviously, silently screaming.

It all clicked then: the former Gryffindor Quidditch star was under Jones' control via the Imperius Curse. Worse, the man was a Sex-Warlock who was being forced by Megan's commands to exert his influence over Adrian Pucey so the guy would enjoy his own rape.

The explanation as to why no one had determined who the spies were amongst the resistance now made sense. The weird 'fuzzing out' of Legilimens skills that he'd overheard Snape discussing with Zabini and Nott on occasion was a result of Oliver's Sex-Warlock abilities; specifically, he'd messed with everyone's magical auras in camp, keeping them all too muzzy to be able to use mind magic. He'd probably accomplished that by shagging as many people as he could get his hands on in that time – men and women alike who were receptive to his advances, and then bleeding off that energy to affect the others.

But to trick an entire camp of over fifty people – three of whom were extremely strong Legilimens, and two Vampires gifted with innate mind magic – would take _tremendous_ power. Even Fay hadn't seemed that strong, and he'd lain with her enough over the last year to know how her power had worked its wonders. Besides, if Wood had that much strength, how was it that he was Jones' slave, and not the other way around? For that matter, why hadn't Fay or Charlie or any of the women and men brought from The Madam's House who were in the same boat been able to sense that Wood was one of their own?

It had to be something Megan was doing to dim him down enough to exert total control over the man and to keep his true abilities a secret. He assumed that meant she had either incredible magical abilities at her command (perhaps she was one of these Trackers he'd heard about spoken with fear by some of the Snatchers at meals?), or perhaps she was using a potion of some kind on him that could accomplish the goal of making him the perfectly loyal, completely inconspicuous servant that he'd become. Then again, it could be both or neither explanation. There weren't enough facts to make a judgment call just then.

Palming his wand, he'd considered what spell to best use on Jones in the hopes of freeing both men (what if she was so magically tied-up with Oliver that an _Avada Kedavra_ to her back killed _him_, too? Stranger things had happened in this war), but just at that moment a group of five Snatchers and a Death Eater leaving the castle was drawn to the _ménage a trois_ currently in progress out in the open. Philip's own magical abilities were, to be honest, not very strong; he was a man with a talent for mixing potions and defensive magic, not for offensive spell casting (that he'd known by the time he'd been fifteen, and much to his father's great disappointment, for the man had wanted him to follow in his footsteps as a Hit Wizard). He knew he was outnumbered and out-classed then, and opted to retreat. His last glance of Adrian that day – face down, straddled over a stone bench with Wood behind him, pounding him hard - made him shudder in pity for the man. Perhaps it would have been doing him a favor to simply cast the _Avada_ on Pucey instead.

But Philip couldn't afford such morose, dangerous thoughts. He had a mission to accomplish, and if he was dead, he'd fail more than himself. There was the big picture to consider: decimate Mort's ranks, and perhaps even get to the man, himself, if his luck held.

Now, though, there were three new goals to add to that list as well: he was determined to spring Adrian, to save Wood from Megan's clutches, and to free the other prisoners. The first step he'd begun today with the strengthening potions he'd slipped into the food he knew Pucey would be forced to eat. Perhaps that could help him fight back against the mental commands. The next step would require some recon of the prisoner dungeons, good planning and careful mixing of poisons. If he screwed it up, he'd murder Adrian accidentally.

A knock rapped on his door. He looked around to make sure nothing was left out to conspicuously cast doubt upon him, and then answered the summons. Walden Macnair stood on his threshold, a doped-up female prisoner – a witch he recognized immediately despite the fact her tell-tale crimson cascade of hair had obviously been dyed a dark brown – firmly in hand.

"Thought ya'd like ta share her wit' me," his commander offered with a toothy, disgusting grin. "We just captured her in field, tryin' ta find her rebel friends."

Philip's heart stilled and he was very careful to control his tone and choice of words. "Is our Great Lord back then?"

Macnair shook his head. "Naw, he stayed ta convert Norwich. Sent me ta check the home front and bring her in for conversion. Thought we'd have ourselves a wee bit o' fun with the bint first."

Philip stepped to the side, indicating that Walden could enter his chambers. The man roughly grabbed his prisoner and all but threw her onto the bed, where she collapsed into a lethargic heap, while Philip shut and locked the door, making sure no one else was in the hallway before doing so.

Immediately, Philip went to the woman, and pulled back her eyelids. Her pupils were dilated. "What did you give her to sedate her and how much?" he asked in faux unconcern.

"Do it matter?" the older man asked, already tossing aside his robes and reaching for the fly of his trousers.

Philip played his part well, tamping down the illness that churned in his guts. Merlin, how could Nott have stomached going along with this sort of thing? Had he been forced to rape a girl, as Philip was now being faced with performing? "I'd prefer her not vomiting all over me when I fuck her mouth," he made himself say as evenly as possible, stepping closer to where his wand lay on the bedside table.

Macnair laughed. "Wormwood essence. Won't make her puke her pretty guts out. Only makes her numb and-"

"Cooperative," Philip finished for him. "Obliging."

"Exactly, me boy," the older man leered. He stripped his captive's shirt and jeans, shoes and socks from her person, then used a knife to cut her bra and knickers off. "Won't be needing those again," he snickered cruelly.

Having reached his wand, Philip held it in the palm of his hand, weighing it, rolling the wood over and over again against his sweaty palm. Did he have what it took to cast the Killing Curse? He'd failed to make this decision when facing Adrian's rapists. Sweated dotted his brow as he watched in terror, his heart in his throat as Walden Macnair brought his sizable dick out and headed for the girl's pussy, parting her legs violently, uncaringly.

He couldn't let this happen. It was wrong. He'd do a lot of bad things to get his revenge on Mort and his people, but rape was a line he'd sworn to himself he'd never cross.

He couldn't let this _not _happen, though. His cover would be blown if he killed Macnair. Adrian and Wood and all of the prisoners would be killed. There was the bigger picture to consider…

Either way, he was as fucked as Ginny Weasley was right when Macnair shoved his cock into her and began slamming home.

Unless…

"_Imperio_," he aimed the wand at Walden's head and let fly his first Unforgivable Curse. You had to mean it when you cast one of these spells, and in that moment, Philip _meant_ it. His mind crushed the weaker Death Eater's will easily, having taken him completely by surprise; there was absolutely no struggle. "Do not make a sound. Do not move except to blink and breathe. You will only do as I say. Nod if you understand and agree."

Instantly, Walden Macnair stiffened and stopped moving all together. Helplessly, he nodded.

"Good, now pull your disgusting dick out of her right now and step back three paces."

The older man did as bade, his eyes as glassy as Wood's had been that afternoon in the courtyard. Philip felt the exultation that accompanied the use of dark magic course through him, recognized its allure and carefully conquered it, reminding himself of why he was touching this type of magic at all by looking down at the nude, silent, abused girl lying on his bed, tears leaking from her eyes into her hairline.

Keeping his wand trained on the man out of caution, even though it was no longer necessary, Philip made his way around the bed and to his 'master's' side. He then proceeded to kick him in the naked, hairy balls _hard_. "You can feel that, but can't make a noise."

Macnair collapsed to his knees, hunching in on himself silently, his mouth opened as if he wanted to scream, but couldn't.

"You sick fuck," he spit on Macnair's bowed head. "I'd kill you if I could."

With that, he turned and arranged the youngest Weasley under the covers of his bed, making the whole thing look rumpled and well used, then cut his palm with his apothecary knife and smudged the blood everywhere. Sealing the wound with a healing charm, and looked at his work and with a final mussing of that long, silky hair, he turned back to the Death Eater lying on the floor.

"Stand the fuck up now."

Walden crawled to his feet, tears leaking from his eyes. "I hope that kick makes you unable to ever get it up again. But let's make sure, shall we? Close your eyes."

Macnair obeyed, and Philip reached into his secret stash of potions ingredients under the mattress of his bed, moving it gently so as not to disturb the woman lying across it, and grabbed a particular screw-top container, which he opened and brought over to Macnair. "Open your eyes, reach in and take one of the leaves," he commanded, and the man complied. "Now rub it all over your abdomen, chest, arms, thighs, dick, bollocks and arse. That's right," he grinned maliciously, "make sure to coat yourself with it. Good, now, put it back in the container and step back one pace. Close your eyes again."

When he was done, Philip put the lid back on the jar of poison sumac leaves and sealed it tight, then replaced it. He made sure the jar was returned to its resting spot and the mattress perfectly covered it. "Now, open your eyes and put your clothes back on. Touch nothing except your clothing."

When Macnair was done, he aimed his wand at him. "When I say the word, 'freedom,' you will not remember me ever _Imperio_-ing you or commanding you in any capacity today, but you will carry out the following commands to the letter nevertheless: You will believe that you and I spent the last hour fucking a female prisoner in my bed together in every opening of her body, and that we took her virginity, both front and back, which is why there is blood everywhere. You will believe you commanded me to take care of her from now on – your gift to me for being so loyal a new recruit. You will not want to share her again, having had your fill. You will feel sated from today's activities and need to return to your room to sleep it off, where you will undress and put yourself to bed and not awaken again until tomorrow morning." He stopped, considered his next move, and made a snap decision. "The next time your master, Lord Mort summons you into his presence, you will attempt to kill him by any means necessary, and you will fight to the death to do so. You will not allow yourself to be captured or interrogated, nor will you allow your mind to be probed. You will kill yourself in such cases. Nod if you understand everything I've commanded you."

Macnair nodded. "Good. Walk to the door, but do not touch it. Touch no surface in this room with your dirty hands." The last thing he needed was to get sumac, too. Then everyone would know they'd been together at some point.

When they got to the door, Philip opened it and stepped back. He put on a fake mask of cruel enjoyment. "Freedom," he said, and Walden Macnair blinked and looked at him, taking a second to realize where he was and what was going on.

"Thank you again, my master, for providing me with so much fun today," Philip smirked and looked over at the distressed bed and the practically comatose girl lying in it. "She was… tasty. I can't wait to break her."

Macnair's gaze followed Philip's and a malicious sneer covered his grossly lined features. "She was good. I loved fucking her cherry."

"Her pussy, yes, but her arse was all mine," Philip pretended his role with a lascivious lick of his lips. "Thank you for granting me that privilege as well." He mock bowed.

Macnair rubbed an infected hand across his brow and through his hair. This was almost too good to be true; he'd be covered with the rash by tonight. Brilliant! "I'm beat. Not as young as I used ta be, hate ta say it. The wench took it outta me. Gonna have a lie-in. Wake me for dinner, me boy." With that, the man turned and left, walking back down the corridor towards his own rooms on the Sixth Floor.

Philip shut the door, locked it, waved a Silencing Charm over the whole of the room, and only then did he let himself panic. With shaky hands, he made his way back to his secreted stash, careful of disturbing the young lady, and withdrew the counter to Wormwood – a Sobering Potion for overindulgence in alcohol. _Scourgify-_ing the bedding with a quick thought, he made his way to the girl's side, putting his wand down on the bedside table and tenderly lifting Ginny Weasley's head. "This will counter the effects of the drug in your system," he gently explained, knowing she could hear him, but that her mind wasn't clear enough for her to reply or show any indication of acknowledgement. "Please don't start screaming when you come to, or you'll give us both away," he begged as he poured the contents of the vial down her throat, tipping her head back and up, making her swallow by pinching her nose.

It took five minutes before the girl's eyelids stopped fluttering and her breathing regulated itself. Philip looked down into her pretty russet eyes, watched them flood with tears as the knowledge of what she'd been through sharpened and focused within her mind, and then she bit back a gasp and started crying. Feeling ineffectual, Philip made to move away, but the girl's hand on his arm halted him. Before he could stop her, he was yanked down and her arms were about his neck and she was holding on for dear life, sobbing into his shoulder.

Unsure if it was the right thing to do or not (Philip's only experience with women had been Fay, and she had never cried in front of him), he wrapped his arms about her and pulled them up into a sitting position (mostly so he wouldn't suffocate in the pillow) and held on while little Ginny Weasley cried her eyes out.

Oooh, boy. Now what was he going to do? This girl's arrival threw his entire plan tits up. How could he possibly avoid being noticed now that he would be the only recruit in the castle gifted with his own personal whore by one of Lord Mort's oldest guard?

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

"_**Red Is The Rose" lyrics:**_

_**Come over the hills, my bonnie Irish lass  
Come over the hills to your darling  
You choose the rose, love, and I'll make the vow  
And I'll be your true love forever. **_

_**Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows  
Fair is the lily of the valley  
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne  
But my love is fairer than any.**_

_**'Twas down by Killarney's green woods that we strayed  
When the moon and the stars they were shining  
The moon shone its rays on her locks of golden hair  
And she swore she'd be my love forever. **_

_**Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows  
Fair is the lily of the valley  
Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne  
But my love is fairer than any.**_

When Willem Bradley thinks about 'sharing Adam's weakness,' he is referring to the story in The Holy Bible (Genesis) when the first man, Adam, is tempted by his wife, Eve, to taste the fruit of The Tree of Knowledge – which God has commanded as forbidden and off-limits. Giving into that weakness doomed Adam and Eve together in God's eyes, and brought about the fall of man from grace. Both husband and wife were kicked out of The Garden of Eden as a result, and became mortal.


	21. Ch 20: Change In Plans

**Chapter Twenty: **_**Change In Plans**_

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

**Friday, October 20, 2000 (early morning)**

Philip woke up still entwined with the Weasley girl. She'd requested he sleep against her last night, afraid on her first night in the castle – a place where she'd once danced and gossiped through the halls, ironically enough – and although it had been a chaste arrangement, with him merely offering her warm arms and a body to spoon against, it made him decidedly uncomfortable to be pressed against her backside so prominently when she was wearing only one of his oversized t-shirts and nothing else underneath.

The truth was, he hadn't been with a woman since Fay had left months ago to The Madam's House (and upon her return, she'd hooked up immediately with Charlie Weasley, taking her officially out of the dating game), and Weasley was so soft and innocently wedged against his morning wood at the moment. It was hard to be a gentleman given the circumstances. He put forth his best effort, however.

Gently trying to disentangle himself, he accidentally woke her. Instantly, her tiny hands gripped him with fierce concern. "It's alright," he softly murmured against her ear. "Just need to use the loo. Two doors over. Be right back."

He could feel her rapid heartbeat slowing and she nervously nodded.

Replacing the covers about her to conserve her heat – the castle was freezing unless one cast a warming charm about their room, which was something he'd forgotten to do last night – he slipped the trousers he'd been wearing yesterday back on as well as his shoes and took his wand with him as he covertly and quietly slipped out of his assigned chambers to take care of his private business.

Upon his return, he found her huddled with the covers over her head entirely, a small, pathetic lump in the center of his mattress. Relocking the door and casting the silencing and warming charms, he shucked his outer clothes and opted to rejoin her, wanting to catch at least another hour or two of sleep before attempting to tackle his next assignment for the day.

Ginny refused to come out from under the covers at his poking, and she still hadn't spoken a single word since yesterday.

With a sigh, he ducked under the sheets.

"I know who you are," he quietly confessed, once he'd settled back in. "I remember you from school, even though I was in your brother's level, a year above yours." He gently tugged on a long lock of her colored mahogany mane. "You can't wash the freckles off of a Weasley no matter how hard you scrub, they used to say."

Rolling over suddenly, she stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I'm on an operation for Granger and Malfoy," he explained, placing a single finger over her gaping lips. "But you can't tell a soul or risk discovery, or more than me will die. There are others trapped here. I plan to help them escape, if I can, while carrying out my mission."

Two dark whiskey-colored saucers stared at him in the dim light that seeped through the small window above the bed, and filtered through the white sheet.

"I'll take care of you in the interim, but you absolutely cannot leave this room under any circumstances, nor can you use magic of any kind," he stated firmly, clearly laying out the plan. "We can't risk it. Also, know that there are days I don't return to my room, because I'm called in to the… revels," he grimaced and spat the word, forcing himself to block those horrible memories for now. "I'll try to bring enough food so you won't have to worry about starving." He removed his finger, finally, realizing that he'd let it linger far too long, enjoying the physical connection even for that short while. "When it's time for the others to make their break, you'll go with them. They'll take you to the Captain."

"Captain?"

Her voice was husky with under-use and sleep, and for some reason, Philip reacted to it inappropriately, his loins tightening up. Keeping his hips far enough away, he tried to concentrate on the conversation and struggled to forget that there was a half-naked woman in his bed lying mere inches from him. Just yesterday, she'd been raped horribly, he reminded himself and that did the trick of calming his irrational animal lust. "Hermione Granger. We've all taken to calling her 'Captain' over the last year. Clearwater began it as a way to show deference, but it's sort of become more an endearment now."

Ginny's hands gripped his shirt and yanked hard. "Penelope Clearwater? She's alive?"

Phil nodded. "Yeah, she's Granger's Second. Tough bitch. She's with Longbottom now. They're engaged."

A small sob escaped the little Weasley girl's lips and although he couldn't see her tears in the gloom, he could hear her sniffling with them. "She was my older brother's girlfriend. We all thought she'd died around the same time he had."

She'd lost two brothers then, for Phil knew that Ron had been Lord Mort's first victim upon his unholy birth. "I'm sorry," he quietly sympathized. He'd lost family, too, and he was intimately familiar with the ache that never quite dulled behind one's heart as a result. "There's a Charlie Weasley in camp, too. He came with Snape and a group from Romania to join us. Used the tame dragons or something like that. Is he related to you? He's involved with Fay Dunbar. Remember her?"

Ginny gasped and nodded, and now her tears came for an entirely different reason. Pressing her forehead into his chest, she cried her relief, murmuring 'thank Godric,' over and over again.

They spent the remainder of the morning and some of the afternoon under those covers, talking in soft voices of all he knew of the resistance here on the islands, his arms unconsciously curving around his charge once more, drawing her smaller form into the heat of his. For her part, Ginny didn't seem to mind the contact despite her previous physical assault, gripping him back equally as tight. He assumed it was because she, like he, took comfort from their commonality. He knew that in the bleakness of war, just having another person near whom you could trust was the most beautiful thing you could own, even if it was fleeting, and in those moments, it was _really good_ to have a friend to talk to again after so many weeks of being alone in this dismal, evil place. To be able to relate to someone inherently decent again, instead of the monsters, was the blessing from above that he'd needed to raise his flagging spirits. So, for hours he droned on and on, answering each of the young woman's questions with his reserve of great patience, reliving his memories at her curious prompting, enjoying the feel of her hair sliding through his fingers.

When he'd finally talked himself out, it was her turn to speak, and what Philip learned from her was enough to shock the shite out of him, and raise the banner of burning, reckless hope in his chest: the American resistance, led by her eldest brother, Bill, was rallying the hidden insurrectionist cells across the world. The Movement planned to converge on The Fortress en masse in a final, desperate fight before the end of December. Win or lose, the other cells had already committed to the course, having been in solid contact for over the last year, and they were already on their way to a meeting point in Morocco to unite, to make final preparations to launch the assault. The world, it seemed, was ready to finally put an end to Lord Mort and his Death Eaters.

_Merry early fucking Christmas!_, he inwardly cheered, hugging Ginny tightly and kicking his heels against the mattress in happiness.

Hell, maybe by January, he'd be on a beach in the Caribbean, sipping one of those Muggle Mai Tai's through an umbrella straw, happily away from all of this _bloody_ rain and cold, getting the fucking tan of the century. He needed a holiday desperately.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**A Cottage (unknown location)**_

**Unknown Date (sometime in mid-to-late October, 2000, evening)**

"Granger, wake up."

Blinking back the bright spots exploding in front of her eyes, Hermione's mind took a few more moments to roll past the dazed and confused part before she could focus. Cormac was leaning over her, and she was flat on her back in a bed.

Memory collided with rationale, and instinct took over. She shoved against his burly chest and screeched, her fingernails reaching to gouge out his eyes. "_No!_ Never again!"

It didn't take much to overpower her, as McLaggen outweighed her and his muscle mass easily rivaled Viktor's, but she fought like a hellcat anyway. Her wrists were restrained into the mattress with little effort, however, and her captor simply sat all his weight on her lower abdomen. "Calm down," he shouted. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

She stared up at him with anger, quaking with fear. Her heart was a loud pounding in her ears.

"You fainted," her captor explained. "You've been out for almost two days. Just relax, will you? I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

It took several more minutes for her mind to evoke reality, and another minute or two for it to recall details. She stopped struggling, regaining sanity. "Get off of me _now_," she grit, her fury the only thing keeping her tears at bay.

Cormac did as requested, letting her go and pushing off of her, nimbly regaining his feet. "You were screaming from a nightmare. I didn't mean…"

She sighed, pushing herself into a sitting position, closing her eyes against the world tilting and the accompanying nausea. "Forget it." Swallowing the last of her terror away, she blinked and wet her lips. "Water?"

He rushed to the kitchenette and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it out of the tap. Returning to her side, he held the drink out and was careful not to touch her again, she noted, as they passed the glass between them. Downing it quickly, she handed it back to him. "What happened?"

He washed the glass in the sink, and laid it out to dry on the rack. "You indicated that Potter contacted you mentally. If he knows where you're at, there's a chance Mort could find out, too. I had to prevent that, so I scrambled your magical aura." He turned back to her, drying his hands on a towel and tossing it to the side, then strode to the table and took a chair, turning it to her and sitting. "The side effect is that it fuckwallops a person's brain patterns temporarily. Like one of those Electro-Magnetic Pulses that Mort used to fry the Muggle satellites in orbit over Europe once he took over." He shook his head. "We can't risk you reaching out to him. You'll need to let me know if he tries it again."

Hermione considered that instruction very carefully. How much should she tell Cormac about her connection to Harry? Should she say anything if her friend came to her in a dream again (despite the fact he hadn't in a long while)? She still didn't trust McLaggen completely, despite having accepted his apologies, in a fashion, for his past mistakes.

The snake ring on her finger squeezed once in solidarity.

Good, then, it was decided: she'd tell him nothing. She'd have to make the lie convincing, though.

"Fine."

Short and sweet, and she even managed to look him in the eye and not flinch. Bully for her!

McLaggen stared at her for a few minutes in silence, weighing her words. She was sure he knew she was fibbing, but when he spoke next, he gave no indication. "In any case, we're going to have to leave here now. It was too dangerous to move you while unconscious, and the wards around this place won't let me Apparate in or out. Carrying you out of here would have left us vulnerable if there's an army of Death Eaters or Trackers hiding in the woods just beyond already." He stood suddenly, looking down at her with tired eyes and wan features. "But you're awake now, so we'll go once you get something in your stomach, shower and we pack up some supplies."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Go where?"

He ran a hand through his very short, curly, blond hair – the same cut as he'd maintained in school – and let out a very deep breath in one sharp hiss. "Where else? To find your friends."

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Friday, October 20, 2000 (early evening)**

Blaise chimed his glass with the edge of a fork to get everyone's attention as two announcements were made at dinner that night: first, Neville and Penelope and Charlie and Fay planned to have a double wedding on Halloween night, and they invited everyone to their hand-fasting ceremony, which would take place on the shore of the small lake, and second, Charlie and Fay were having a baby together, too – a little girl, he proudly proclaimed, whom they were to name Hope.

Everyone was in rousing spirits as a result of the excellent news, and glasses clinked together, boisterous laughing could be heard around the tables, and smiles were plastered to nearly every face – well, everyone except Malfoy, who never smiled. And if they'd been there, Bradley (who was out on patrol) and Stretton (who was in his tent feeling poorly, according to Su) probably wouldn't be able to do more than give a half-hearted attempt at a lip twitch; both men had never been this depressed in all the time Blaise had known them.

Still, he refused to allow dark thoughts to ruin this brief happiness. He tapped cups with Pansy, who sat at his left, and the two shared a secret, almost shy smile before downing their drinks. She'd let him kiss her – just once – before leaving the dinner tent that night, and although it had been a quick pull of lips, it had been sweet and enticed him thoroughly. He'd spent the last two days thinking about that 'date' whenever she was out of sight, and catching himself staring at her perfect, soft mouth a little too obsessively whenever she was nearby.

"Are we still on for tomorrow morning?" she asked quietly, leaning towards him. Her breast accidentally brushed against his arm, and he felt his gut clench.

He nodded and grinned cheekily. "Breakfast will be served at eight sharp. Don't be late or I'm eating your portion, too."

Pansy brushed that glorious, black mane of hair she'd magically grown out off her shoulder. The move was blatantly flirtatious, and made him reconsider her actions. Maybe that touch a moment ago hadn't been an accident, after all?

"I was thinking about taking a stroll later around the lake," she purred in a low voice, putting her glass down and gazing up boldly to capture his stare. "It's not as cold tonight, and it'll be good to walk-off the dinner. But, you know what they say: a lady shouldn't walk alone during such dark times. Who knows what's lurking out there. So, want to come?"

Was that a double _entendre_? Only one way to find out… A smirk crept up his cheek. "Sure do."

Parkinson's cheeks were a touch flushed, but her smile was sinfully provocative. "After pudding then?"

Blaise's eyes found themselves staring at her bottom lip again and he shook his head rather decidedly. "I have something else in mind for dessert."

A giggle erupted from her lips and the sound was positively beautiful. "Well, I hope it's not fattening. I'm watching my waist line now that I'm seeing someone."

Lips stretching wide in a beaming smile, Blaise chuckled. "Quite the opposite, dove. It'll keep you slim, I've heard – all the sweating and such."

"Excellent," she affirmed playfully, and beneath the table, her hand found his thigh and rested upon it as she turned back towards her meal to finish.

Inside his chest, Blaise's heart took off at a rabbit's pace, and suddenly, his pants were two sizes too small. Slytherin give him the strength to take things at a proper pace, or he was sure this woman would eat him alive!

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Friday, October 20, 2000 (mid-evening)**

Pansy's heart thumped in triplicate when Blaise willingly took a hold of her hand after dinner, pulling her to her feet, and in front of everyone, walked with her from the main pavilion with a possessive glint in his eye. There were more than a few raised eyebrows, and even some whistling and cat-calls, but they exited the tent and hurried across the camp together, unconcerned, both too eager to be alone again to care. They zipped up their coats and she slung her hood up to cover her ears, and then they reached automatically for each other, reestablishing physical contact quickly, as if they both _needed_ to touch the other and not let go.

On the walk towards to the eastern shore – the sandiest stretch of beach and the most private area around the lake (hidden as it was by the rocky and forested hillside) – Pansy's mouth had gone dry, and her pulse had sped up disproportionately to the amount of exercise they were engaged in. Truthfully, she was hoping they'd stop soon so she could catch her breath.

When they reached the spot where the tent had been set-up the night before, Blaise stopped and sat them down in the soft ground. The sifting granules were cold under her bottom, but with a simple wave of his wand, her 'date' assured a bubble warming charm took care of the environmental discomforts, and soon, they both had their jackets off and were lying back against them, staring up at the dark canopy far above.

"I've missed the stars," she hummed, huddling closer to Zabini. "And feeling the night air. My room at The Madam's House had a window, but I never opened it, except after-" She bit her lip, not wanting to remember such horrible things as the nauseating post-coital stink from unwashed Death Eater bodies. "The last time I can remember sitting out like this was at Hogwarts, sixth year," she deflected instead, huffing in fond remembrance. "Stupid Astronomy project to chart the spring alignment of the stars by Sinistra. Remember it? I got paired with that sweaty, little Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley." She shook her head, brushing a wind-blown strand out of her eyes. "Back then, I'd hated doing something so ridiculously pedantic and useless. There were books with the same exact charts, and much better illustrations in the library, after all." She sighed morosely. "I'd give anything to have that back now, though. I'd pay every knut in the universe to be doing something so mundane." She blinked away tears as she considered all that had changed in the world. "I wonder what happened to him - Justin, I mean."

Blaise sighed next to her. "He died last year. We were ambushed by Death Eaters unexpectedly. He and Ernie Macmillan bought us the time we needed to escape."

Pansy turned her head in surprise. "He was part of the resistance? But he'd always seemed so… uncoordinated."

Her beau turned his head and stared back, shrugging. "He grew out of it."

"Huh," she sniffed, feeling an odd little pang in her chest at the news. "I'm sorry to hear that. He wasn't a bad kid, just always fumbling around me, like I freaked him or something. At least he went down fighting. I can respect that." She sighed deeply, trying to reach for a topic that wouldn't be so depressing. "But, hey, you might be interested to know that Snape once told me that Sinistra and Trelawney had been sent to America by McGonagall soon after Mort showed up. I guess she thought they wouldn't be so good in a fight, or maybe she needed them to help set-up the resistance in California. I'm not sure actually. He said that they got away scot-free and made it safely to the Yanks, though." She turned to glance back at the stars again. "I didn't care a whit for either of their instruction styles, but I'm glad they made it."

Blaise squeezed her hand gently, a small smile on his full lips. "Maybe they can come back to help rebuild Hogwarts when this is all over. Teach again."

To her surprise, tears coursed down her cheeks and she choked on a sob. She was amazed with how much it hurt to think about what had become of her true second home of her childhood. "I hope we burn The Fortress to the ground once we kill that bastard and dance in his ashes. Then we can build a new castle right over the top of it."

Her dark wizard rolled suddenly atop her, carefully adjusting his weight so he didn't crush her, and tipped his head down to kiss her. A sudden thought jumped from her brain to her mouth, popping out with filtering and interrupted him, however.

"Oooh! Does this mean we can invent all new Houses?"

Zabini pulled back just before their lips met, clearly incredulous that she would interrupt their kissing moment with such an odd thought. Toying with his shirt collar coyly, Pansy tried to defend her position. "Well, if it's a new castle we're building, then _we're_ the Founders. So, it follows there would be new House names based on us, not the four who built Hogwarts."

Blaise shook his head and laughed. "Sure, I guess. But 'Parkinson' is too long for a House name. Zabini would be better. It's got that special foreign ring to it that just rolls off the tongue."

Raising an eyebrow, she challenged him to find out specifically his intentions with such a charged statement. "Oh? Well, I have no intention of ceding my spot as a Founder for you, Mr. Zabini."

He looked at her with warmth, his mischievous smirk roving up that handsome cheek of his. "Well, then we'll have to discuss a permanent name change for you, if that's your insistence."

Before she could respond, Blaise dropped his mouth to hers and captured her in a fiery kiss that burned her straight to her core. It was possessive and loving, and it spoke of feelings that went deeper than the skin. Pansy was left shaken and panting by it – and that was before his tongue stroked hers with an almost arrogant, assured ownership. Her body seriously aroused, she ground her hips up against his, connecting their pelvises, blatantly letting him know what she wanted.

"Not yet," he breathed gently against her cheek as he pressed kisses all along her jaw, heading towards her earlobe. "I want us to go slow. Let me romance you, dove."

Swallowing the lump gathering in her throat, she whispered with raw emotion back. "Why?"

Nibbling on that point above her fast-beating pulse in her throat, he nuzzled her reverently. "Because you're worth it."

Something significant switched over in Pansy's mind and heart in that moment, and she knew – _just knew _– that this time, she was good and caught by a man. She was going to fall hard for the skirt-chaser Lothario, Blaise Zabini. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a crash landing.

Their arms locked about the other with powerful need, the two kissed with passion for a long while, until finally, with bruised, swollen lips and fiercely beating hearts, they decided to call it a night. Her wizard walked her back to her tent, and in all her years, Pansy had never wished so fervently that Blaise Zabini was less of a gentleman as he left her with a mere gentle kiss pressed to the back of her knuckles.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Thursday, October 21, 2000 (night)**

At least the small, narrow alley way was unsoiled and didn't smell, Jeremy considered with some irony, finding himself _here _again.

Blessington was an older, smaller town, and the people took great pride in caring for what was theirs, so they kept things relatively immaculate, including their back streets. Still, he hated the idea that he'd have to do this with this same girl as last time in a place like _this_. She should be left unspoiled by the likes of him, cherished for her innocence by someone who would love her – but there was no time left. He needed… Shit, his teeth were already punching through his gums.

_Slow_, he cautioned his _Vampirius_, as it hesitantly came forward in his mind to experience this young woman even closer this second time. _Don't hurt her. She's too sweet. _

He felt it push his consciousness aside lightly and look out through his eyes at the girl. _Swwwweeeeeetttt,_ his other half greedily approved with great anticipation as it measured her intimately from head to toe, and then flipped through every single one of the girl's lifetime of memories in a flash. Once it had taken its quick look, it slid back in deference to Jeremy's greater experience with human females, and allowed its host to take over again.

Gently, Jeremy pushed this girl – Hannah, he'd pulled her name from her mind the first time he'd drunk from her - against the old-world stone of the building to his right and leaned in, touching her face with a trembling hand, his other moving gracefully, deftly to unbutton her blouse quickly. "I'll make you feel so good," he promised, leaning towards her, opening his mouth and sampling the air for her growing desire. Her breath smelled of a chocolate bar that she'd eaten earlier, gotten from that same small market he'd saw her in front of last time, paid for and consumed before she'd even left the shop, according to the memory in her mind.

She was so open, like a child. The guilt hit him again right between the eyes, but his _Vampirius _growled in annoyance, demanding he pay attention to the task at hand. It was losing patience. Soon, it would simply roar to the front and take over, and then he'd accidentally drain her dry most likely. That author Worple had been right when he'd compared _Vampirius_ to a demonic possession, for at times, that's what this thing inside him felt like.

_Seeeeeeee_, the devil inside required of him, forcing his hand to unzip her jacket and push up her jumper. As soon as most of the flesh of her torso was exposed, he was compelled to cup one of Hannah's covered breasts and massage it lightly. _Lickkkkkkkkkkkk_, his parasite requested, hovering in his head with eagerness.

Jeremy paused in confusion.

_Lickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!,_ the _Vampirius_ demanded with increasing ire.

It seemed to want to experience things, throwing a fit if he stopped or didn't move fast enough for its edification - almost like a child. Absently, he noted that it had been this way since it had woken up a little less than a month ago. Had his bonding with Will somehow changed it? Was that even possible?

With a quick movement, Jeremy pulled the fabric of her bra down to expose the pretty, rosy nipple underneath, and he bent his head to suckle at Hannah's breast, giving in to the monster's desire that coursed through his veins. The girl's fingers gripped his shoulders and she pressed fingernails lightly into him, moaning and encouraging him softly. His cock jerked in his pants, hardening instantly.

In those few seconds, his mind went quiet, and he sensed his internal beast experiencing the sensations; was almost overwhelmed by its curiosity. _Moreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_, the demon-virus insisted like a petulant kid when he pulled his head back.

Never before had his _Vampirius _seemed in the least bit interested in exploring sensations or in having any kind of a relationship with him aside from compelling him to shag his prey (to get the person's blood rushing), and then to kill the victim by depleting every last drop from their arteries. It didn't speak to him much in his mind. Tonight, though, he couldn't get it to shut up.

_Touchhhhh_, it whined.

His hand went to the button of her jeans, popped it, then unzipped her quickly, even as his other hand pulled her bra down on the opposite side and he lathed attention to that nipple as well. Smoothing his hand down her small, slightly rounded tummy, he yanked her jeans and knickers down to mid-thigh in one rough move.

"Want you now," the girl gasped, completely enthralled by his power over her. His fingers delved into the center of her legs to check her readiness, fighting the urge to press his canines into her right then, to drink from her aorta directly above the heart – which would kill her instantly from the shock. Moving his head from her breast, he turned her around to face the wall, pushing her hair from her neck, exposing it, then reached for the silver fasten on his own pants.

His conscience chose that exact moment to rear its ugly head. Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut as Will's face impressed itself upon the back of his lids.

He couldn't do this. It felt too much like cheating!

No, he _had_ to do this, otherwise, he'd hurt the one person he was trying to protect! If he didn't sate the beast tonight, he'd attack someone tomorrow – most likely his mate. It was this girl or the man he loved.

_Will, I'm sorry. Forgive me._

Opening his eyes, he stared at the back of Hannah's head, realizing how young her aura 'felt' as he brushed against it; she was too innocent, he realized in a moment of clarity. Despite the war, he knew from her mind that she'd never killed, never stooped to committing crimes, not even stealing food. Hell, she'd only sworn a few times in her life, it appeared as he skimmed through her memories quickly. And she'd fancied herself in love with the only man she'd slept with previously - the man who had died fighting against Mort's subjugation.

Oh, Christ, he couldn't have sex with her. This was a good girl, and she deserved better.

_Nooooooo_, his demon-virus howled. _Takeeeeeeeee!_

_Forget it_, he thought back. _Not this time._

_Wantttttttttttttt!_

Jeremy bit back a nasty profanity. _NO SEX. She's not ours!_

An image of Will flashed through his head quickly.

_Ourssssssssssssssssss._

No, he couldn't bring himself to fuck his victim with thoughts of Will fresh in his head, but he definitely needed to bring _her_, because there was nothing sweeter to taste than blood that rushed with orgasmic pleasure, and it was more nourishing and fulfilling for a reason he didn't understand, but _knew_ from all the years doing this. Since he didn't want to have to do this again for a while, he had no choice but to make her come before he drank his fill.

Keeping his slacks in place and untouched, Jeremy stepped closer and slid his hand around the front of the girl instead, dipping between her legs and stroking her up with expert fingers. He concentrated on not hurting her, on controlling his technique and the Vampire's urges (which pounded away inside his breast and behind his eyelids). He could feel the beautiful, hellish disease inside his head paying particular attention to the sensations of this woman's soft lower lips against his fingertips; could sense the demon-virus' desire to taste those juices coating his hand. It was so obviously enthralled with this act in a way it had never been before, almost as if it were discovering that humans were more than mere cattle for its pleasurable taking.

Jeremy forced himself not to walk away in disgust.

He _had _to do this, tonight, before he couldn't control himself any longer.

With a cry of joy, his intended climaxed quickly, clenching up tight, her fingernails biting into the wall near her head, scratching into the stone. A rush of warm, sticky fluid ran all down his hand and her thighs, and he struggled again with his Vampire's baser impulses to keep them in check.

Fuck, she'd climaxed so hard and so uninhibitedly honest! In his pants, his penis throbbed. _Back off_, he snarled at the creature in his head, as it shrieked to be given all control so it could have its way and tear into this female, draining her completely. _No killing! No hurting her! _

Tasting on the air the rush of her blood through her body, Jeremy bent his head to her exposed neck, knowing that now would be the right time, while she was still recovering from her orgasm. He took his soaked hand away from the front of her, gripped her hip firmly and leaned his mouth in.

_Perfectttt_, his vicious fiend purred as he opened wide over the sweet flesh before him.

He struck viper fast, piercing through skin easily, trying to cause her minimal pain, but the flood of hot, salty-sweet blood sang across his tongue in an instant, making his animal inside scream in triumph and suddenly, caring for this woman's comfort took a back seat to swallowing every spurting bit of her life's fluid that ejected into his mouth through the open wounds he'd caused. _Feed, you fucking bastard_, he squeezed his eyes shut and cursed internally at the horrible thing that shared his existence, feeling hot tears sliding down his cheeks. _Feed until we both choke on it._

Gods, he wanted it to be Will under him _so much_; wanted to be tasting his mate's life blood, and hated that he had to make such a connection with some stranger he'd mind raped just to get what he needed. And for the rest of his life, he'd have to do it this way – over and over again, wishing, dreaming it was Will he was sharing so intimate a thing with instead.

He silently wept as he drank from the woman who was now shocked insensible and limp in his arms, cursing himself and his fate, hating himself for the mess he'd made of his relationship with his former ex-lover.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but suddenly, warm hands touched his shoulders. "That is enough, Jeremy," Su's gentle voice in his ear coaxed him. "You do not want to hurt her. Let go now."

Shaking inside and out with conflicting emotions – bliss, disgust, shame and wretched misery - he let his victim go, leaning her back up against the wall gently, where she proceeded to slide down to her knees, unblinking, still too stunned to move or speak. He shrugged off Su's hand, walking backwards several steps and finally collapsing to his own hands and knees, sobbing with such agonized pain in his heart that his shoulders shook.

The Vampiress came back to his side in an instant, entwined around his body from behind, and soothed him with gentle rocking. "Willem, please see to the female's care," she directed, continuing to pet Jeremy's sweat-stained brow.

Will was here? He hadn't sensed his mate's approach. He should have known… Distantly, Jeremy heard his lover speaking to the girl he'd drank from, calming her with gentle words and respectful touches. He knew without looking that his righteous, chivalric mate was righting the Muggle woman's clothes deferentially, wiping the blood from her neck with consideration.

In those short minutes, Jeremy's tide of sorrow finally calmed, and now he sat in a state of emotionally devastated calm, staring at the wall of the alley, his Vampire within quiet, satiated for now.

"Come see to your mate, Willem, and I will erase her mind," Su bid calmly, thoroughly in control. When there was no movement, Su tsk'd. "This has happened because of _you_, Bradley. It is _your_ fault Jeremy has been driven to such extremes. We are only lucky he did not lose himself to the bloodlust before he took steps."

Will snarled. "My fault? What the hell are you talking about? I didn't force him to lure a helpless woman into a back alley for a little fuck-o-rama and some blood drinking."

Jeremy felt Su stand, moving towards Will. "If you had been a _proper_ mate to him, he would not have had to take a stranger to get what he needed," she challenged, her voice dripping with anger. "He suffers because you will not share your life with him!"

Will barked out a harsh, bitter laugh. "You know, I assumed you two were getting it on already, but after this-" There was a small pause. "What you really mean is that I won't let him suck me dry or shag me senseless like _you_ would if he'd give you the time of day."

The sound of her slapping the tall blond across the face brought Jeremy immediately out of his stupor. He stood in an instant and moved faster and with more strength than he had in days, situating himself between the two arguing individuals. He had Su's wrist in his hand as she'd gone in for a second attempt, this time to hit Will hard with her Vampiric strength and slam the big man back (her first had obviously been done with more delicate control for his human condition, as he hadn't been thrown back, merely rocked on his heels).

"Don't," he warned her, applying pressure to the smaller wrist bones, letting her know he wouldn't tolerate her striking his mate, no matter the provocation.

She stared hard at him, clearly confused by his defense of the man who had repeatedly denied him. "He has made you into this _wreck_ of a beast," she hissed, refusing to back down, staring Jeremy in the eye. "You are a great man, Jeremy, and yet you are _so_ unhappy. I watched your suffering all through school, and since I came to your encampment, I have seen it every day. It is because he does not love you back-"

"Enough." Jeremy spoke with softness, but with enough firm intent to make her clamp her lips shut, shutting down her argument. "This is between Will and me."

Yanking her hand out of his grip, Su did not back down, her pretty jaw clenching in frustration, but her tone remained the same, never rising in pitch. "You will need to feed again in a few days," she bluntly informed him. "I know that woman was not enough to replenish what you have lost since Kirkwall. What will you do then, Jeremy? Will you repeat tonight? Will you finish her off next time?"

His heart beating a sharp staccato in his chest, Jeremy sighed. "I will do what I must."

Su shook her head in sad resignation. "It will sustain you, but it will also destroy you by pieces to keep taking this way. Your heart is too true."

Jeremy shrugged, turning his head down to the poor, shell-shocked woman at his feet. "I'll have to adjust." Because when it came right down to it, there was no choice, really. As part-Vamps, they both knew that was the case, as assuredly as they both knew the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

Kneeling down, Jeremy stared at the girl he'd practically drained tonight, sadness gripping his heart. Would he kill the next one? Would he shag his subsequent victim and then kill her – or him? He touched the young woman's cheek, running fingers over her jaw, tilting her head so she would look him in the eye again, knowing what was coming next and hating himself for that manipulation, too. "You will walk home safely from here," he instructed her in a tender voice, implanting the order into her mind. "You will act normally around others you meet along the way, prepare for bed when you're home, and when you wake up tomorrow, this will have been only a dream that you would rather forget, as so many others in your life. Details will be too hazy to recall. And you will go on with your days as usual, forgetting this dream happily in time." He brushed her hair off her neck again, checking the wounds there, then stretched forward and licked them, assuring they closed properly. "Now, go."

He leaned back and the woman regained her feet, wobbled a second, and then did exactly as he'd bid, not looking back once.

With a sigh, Jeremy stood. He continued to watch the end of the alley, not looking at his two companions, both of whom were apparently lost in their own thoughts. "Thank you both for coming to make sure I didn't lose control," he tried for gracious, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "But I'm fine now. I won't need your help again."

Unsure what more he could say and too afraid to look at either of them, to see the condemnation he knew was in Will's features and the pity in Su's, Jeremy walked away. He resolved himself not to look backward as he moved off into the night alone once more. Feeling their eyes on his back, his gullet tightened and tears wavered before his vision once more.

"Jeremy…"

Putting one foot in front of the other, he ignored Su's appeal, hoping to make it to the alley exit before he broke down again and destroyed every ounce of his pride. And with every step he took away, the gap between he and the two people he had come to love and care for most in the whole world – one his heart's calling and soul mate, the other his trusted confidant and the only friend he had who could intimately relate to his circumstances - opened up wider, becoming abysmally deep and yawning.

_Aloneeee_, his hated side brutally pointed out once more.

_No shit, Sherlock,_ he bitterly replied.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Friday, October 22, 2000 (very early morning, around three o'clock)**

Draco folded up his map, shoving it into his inner robe pocket, and holstered his wand in the thigh rig he'd set up for quick draw. Fighting back his exhaustion – he'd only slept four hours – he moved across to the potions supply Snape allotted to him and downed a vile-tasting restorative, knowing it served the same pep content as downing ten cups of black coffee.

Rejuvenated temporarily, he turned to go - and stopped on a knut, sensing a presence outside his tent flaps. Snape and Theodore Nott entered his temporary sanctuary, blocking the exit. Ah, here came the intervention that he was sure Blaise had set-up in advance.

"If you insist upon these reckless searches for Miss Granger, you will take someone trustworthy with you from now on," Severus stated in a brook-no-argument tone, using that voice he'd often adopted in Potions class to throw his weight about. "Theo will go with you this time."

Two sets of identical, dark eyes stared him down. Draco would have countered the argument, but he could practically feel the seconds slipping by, and with them, the darkness slowly giving way to sunrise. There was no time if he wanted to check out the newest location.

With a reluctant nod, he jammed his Bag of Holding containing travel emergency supplies in his front trouser pocket, and strode past the men – who moved aside, following him out. Theo took up the position on his right as Snape moved off to return to his own tent, and the two friends – at one time, more like brothers, but now, struggling to reconnect – hurried to the edge of camp to Apparate away the moment they hit the perimeter wards.

"Where to?" Nott casually asked, seemingly indifferent to the jump point.

"Dumfries," he stated firmly, letting it be known that no debate on his city of choice would be tolerated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theo nod. "I was stationed in Dumfries twice, three months a piece. It's a possibility she'd be there, if they have her, but there are a lot of places to search: Dumfries Castle, Timwald Castle, Drumcolton Tower, Old Buittle Tower, Lincluden College. She could be in any or none of those, or even hidden out in the countryside."

Draco nodded, feeling that familiar nervousness roil around in his belly as he contemplated his plan again. "I know. I'll be able to tell if she's nearby, though, the second we get close enough."

Theo looked at him sharply. "How?"

"I'll transfigure myself as a wolf and track for her scent," he explained as evenly as possible while simultaneously swallowing back his abhorrence. He'd sworn never to touch his lupine form ever again after what had happened between he and Astoria, but after the last reconnaissance had turned up as frustratingly fruitless as all of the others before it, he'd finally decided that he'd needed more than human senses to find Granger. In the guise of a wolf, he could track her so much easier, for all of his senses were heightened, and he could travel swiftly and stealthily on softly-padded feet. For the woman he loved, he would choke down his personal revulsion at the shape-shifting magic and force himself back into foreign skin and under fur. He would make himself into an animal and run on four legs to the ends of the earth until he found her.

A sudden idea occurred to him then. "Your Animagus form is a dog, right?" he asked his traveling companion.

There was a slightly pause, as if the question came careening out of left field and Nott hadn't been expecting it. "Well, yeah, but I don't know what Granger's scent is like. I've only smelled her skin once, and then not as an animal."

Draco stopped so suddenly, that everything inside of him tightened up. A flash of jealousy slammed into his guts in a violent, arcing burst that nearly bent him over. "Smelled her skin _how _exactly?" he heard himself growl low, his tone menacing. He felt a creeping dark power roll out of his pores and ripple through the air, echoing his words.

Theo's dark sienna eyes widened in astonished fear, and he put his hands up, signaling peace between them, his entire body tense. "Nothing happened. I was forced to hold her close and took the brunt of Phaedra's power to protect her, that's all. Clothes were on. No kissing or anything like that. I wouldn't hurt or abuse her. She's a nice girl."

Sizing his friend up, seeking the truth in physical clues, Draco found the answers he was looking for and accepted Nott's version of the truth; the man had not hurt Hermione, as he'd confessed. He took another moment to calm the irrational ire and clamp down on the magic that crackled across his skin, and then nodded in acceptance. They continued on together in silence for a bit at his lead, passing Charlie Weasley on patrol. They all traded mumbled 'good mornings' and Draco hurried past, Theo catching up, their long strides equaling after a bit.

As they approached the edge of the wards, Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew the Bag of Holding. Inside, he summoned _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to his hand and passed it to Theo. "She owned this, touched the pages. It's been a long time, but my wolf nose could probably pick up a lingering scent from it. I assume your dog's nose will, too."

Nott turned the book over carefully by gripping the corners, trying not to wipe his scent all over it and ruin any persistent traces of Granger. "I'll take a good whiff once we get to Dumfries."

When they got to the particular spot just the other side of the wards, Draco stopped Theo with a hand on his arm. "Grab hold," he commanded, preparing them for Side-Along Apparition. "I've visited the city once, and have a particular destination in mind. It should be free of tourists this time of the year."

His former Slytherin housemate took a deep breath and quickly blew it out, clucking his tongue twice. "Let's hope it'll be free of Death Eaters as well." He tightly gripped Draco's left forearm with his own left hand, and instantly, under his skin, he felt the writhing, evil magic of their Dark Marks greeting each other in recognition in an odd tingling that left him slightly nauseous.

Raising his wand, Draco paused at the last second, looking at his old friend intently. "Just so we're clear, Nott: she's _mine_."

Theo stared back at him unflinchingly. "So I figured." That smarmy, know-it-all grin he'd known so well when they'd been younger boys, freer and unburdened by death in its many myriad of forms, climbed up his cheek once more. "You always were hot for her, even back in school. Just too fucking stupid to see it, yeah?"

Draco snuffed. His friend might be right, but there was no way he was admitting to it.

He cast. They jumped.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

**Friday, October 22, 2000 (morning)**

Penelope awoke to the most delicious dream she'd ever had: Nev was between her legs, eating her out with sensual delight. She stretched in a contented sigh-yawn, only to realize that her dream was, in fact, reality.

To her surprise, her fiancée did not break from his naughty preoccupation upon her stirring. Instead, he gripped her hips harder, suckled and tongue-stroked her labia with renewed vigor, and seductively insisted in her vocal participation by rubbing her clit with just the right amount of pressure. In no time, he brought her over… and then he entered her and they made sweet love. He shoved his tongue into her mouth, and they feasted upon each other as their bodies moved in that well-established rhythm that, too soon, guaranteed them both the ultimate bliss.

Sated and a bit sweaty in the afterglow, she allowed herself to laze about in his arms a little while longer. He finally broke the silence just as she was drifting back off to sleep.

"Counting today, only nine more days until you're mine," he hummed, nuzzling the top of her head. "Will you take my last name?"

Her brain still fuzzed from having orgasmed twice and so deliciously, she glanced up at him, trying to form a coherent sentence. He took her momentary pause the wrong way, though.

"I don't mind if you want to keep you own. I know how independent you witches are today," he quickly backpedaled. "I just… would like it if you wanted to."

Putting her fingers over his mouth to shut him up, she shook her head. "Penelope Longbottom," she grunted, then yawned into his chest. "I like it." With a kiss, she snuggled into his warm embrace. "I want it."

She could feel his smile in his tone. "Oh, well, then that's fine with me, too."

Her eyes had just begun to droop again when he woke her with his next strange question. "Will you wear a white wedding dress?"

Penelope was a bad morning person; she really just wasn't human until she'd had her first cup of coffee, honestly. However, after the glorious way he'd awoken her today, she could find it in her heart to let her annoyance at being woken up by such silly things slide away. "Do you want me to?" Honestly, it was sort of one of those silly, froo-froo girly things that she'd actually wanted to do, although she'd have never admitted it aloud.

His fingers on his left hand – which had regained much of their coordination thanks to the daily physical therapy sessions they'd been working on together for months now – twirled a long strand of her reddish, straight hair, curling it around and around lazily. "I'd like it, if you wouldn't mind."

Tiredly, she nodded against his solid chest. "Then I'll find one or transfigure something." Tapping him with one fingernail on his nipple (causing him to moan, and it to tighten), she playfully wanted to know how far he'd take this wedding planning stuff. "Will you wear dress robes?"

No hesitation. "Sure. I can transfigure something."

Well, then, since they were going that far… "Flowers?"

He grabbed her hand and slid it down the covers, bringing her back into contact with his quickly rousing penis. Apparently, wedding talk got her man horny, regardless of the fact he'd just come less than thirty minutes ago. "I want to give you roses."

Her eyebrows shot up at that. "You do?"

His head shifted and she knew he was nodding, even as his hand guided her up and down his thickening arousal, and the heartbeat under her ear sped up its paces. "Lots of roses, Penny. Red ones and white ones, and any other color you want." He placed kisses along her temple. "Climb up on me," he bid, and to her amazement, her body automatically tightened at the commanding, dominating tone and she hastened to obey.

Joining their wet bodies together again, Neville watched her as she moved over him, his grip on her hips silently instructing her to go slow. "I'm going to bathe you in roses," he murmured, reaching up with his right hand to cup her left breast, his fingers pinching the nipple with just the perfect pressure. "That's it, my beautiful witch, ride me."

Tears prickled the back of her eyes, as she shut them against the amazing feelings that enveloped her whole person. Merlin, what good thing had she ever done in her life to deserve this wonderful, sexy, loving man?

Sitting her upright, bringing her down on him with slow grace, he stroked her overly-sensitized clit with careful caresses. "I love you, Penny," he gasped as he increased their tempo. "So much." Her orgasm climbing into her throat, she cried out that she loved him back as her whole body exploded with light. A few more shoves, and he came inside her deep, holding her to him tight, sealing them together.

This time, she did fall back asleep, and rather quickly too, feeling at the last moment his gentle kiss upon her cheek as he slid out of bed. Her dreams returned to lovely fancies – this time of red roses and white dresses.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

**Friday, October 22, 2000 (afternoon)**

Adrian awoke on the dark, dank floor of his cell, naked again, bruised and sore all over. His arse hurt badly and his jaw was tender. He struggled to fight off the potions they'd given him, shaking his head, sitting up and shoving a dirty finger down his throat to make himself vomit. Up came the contents of his stomach – not much to speak of, really, mostly bile, frothy semen, and some blood.

After that, he lay back on his side, feeling defeated.

There had been a revel last night, after Macnair and some of the others returned with a slew of new prisoners, and he'd been dragged out by Megan to serve as entertainment. Everyone who'd wanted him had taken their turn – and there had been enough to tear him up inside and out once Wood had been forced to let loose his power throughout the room, amping them all up to fuck and fuck and _fuck _until dawn broke through the windows in what had once been the Great Hall. Thank Merlin he hadn't been a virgin, like some of the other captives he'd been forced to witness being raped; it would have destroyed him mentally had he not gotten used to being shagged so despicably by everyone and their mother already.

Tears of anger and frustration streamed down his cheeks, nonetheless.

Wishing fervently for death to come soon, he shuddered, the knowledge of what they had planned for him next far worse than anything he'd already undergone. They were trying to turn him. He'd heard one of the other prisoners in the cell next door, some unfamiliar man, shouting that they would never convert him as they had the others. He sounded half-mad, honestly, cackling in laughter on and off in between the screaming. The silence from that cell now was telling; either they'd taken the "troublemaker" out for an "educational session" or he was dead. Or maybe he had been converted, after all.

Honestly, Adrian had no idea what they did to make a person want to become a Death Eater willingly, but whatever it was, it had to be horrible to be able to force a man to abandon his entire moral center so completely. He didn't want to be like that ever, if he could help it – walking around a corrupt puppet who relished the taste of destruction and basked in the crimson effulgence of death's heartbeat. He'd rather be destroyed.

The door to his cell opened silently; someone had cast a spell upon it to prevent the hinges from creaking. It shut quickly, and through his swollen eyelids, he looked up…

… into the face of Philip Cadwallader.

His teammate put a finger over his lips to indicate silence, and knelt at his side, lifting him gently, and Adrian almost lost it right then and there.

He was being rescued!

"Can you hear and understand me?" Phil whispered softly, and Adrian nodded once, eagerly. "Good, listen. Snape sent me here to poison the whole bloody castle, but there are prisoners like you here, so it's sort-of change of plan time." He unstoppered a vial and lifted it to his lips. Even if it were poison that would ease his passing, Adrian would have gratefully swallowed the contents. "I can't heal your outward wounds, or they'll know someone inside is helping you. Sorry, mate. But this is a small restorative - enough to help with the pain and give you mental clarity."

Once the contents were drained, and Adrian's mind began to clear, he started to understand the implications of Phil's words: he was _not_ being rescued yet, maybe not ever. Phil was here on a mission, and killing the Death Eaters took precedence over his life.

He felt his will leave him.

"Kill me," he begged in a rasping voice, his throat no longer sore thanks to the medicine, but damaged, and requiring a stronger type of heal to fix. "Don't let them convert me."

Phil closed his eyes tight, swallowed, and then shook his head. "I can't. It'll blow my cover." He looked down with sincere regret and sorrow into Adrian's face. "The only ways I could end things for you without causing you suffering would be _Avada_ or poison. The first would alert them immediately that they had a traitor in their midst, and the second… They're already edgy from the slew of 'meat poisonings' that took some of them out recently. If they became at all suspicious of a poisoner, they'd start using Legilimency on everyone to sniff out the truth. I'm not a good enough Occlumens, nor do I have a good enough potion to fuzz my brain to keep them out of the sensitive information. They'd learn every secret I know easily – including where the group jumped to after Kirkwall. I can't risk it."

He wiped Adrian's brow, and his fingers came away stained with blood. "Just… hold on for a few more days, right? I've got a plan to get us all out of here, and kill off as many of these fuckers as I can. But you can't crack, Adrian. You have to endure. Can you do that for our friends, and for the other prisoners here?"

Could he? Adrian was so tired.

A vision of Anica came to his mind. His gentle, dark-haired witch with the wide hips and the gently rounded tummy and the sweetest tasting pussy he'd ever gone down on…

He shuddered and nodded. "How long?"

Phil looked up at the ceiling, considering. "The next revel is scheduled for Halloween night. I can get them all in one fell swoop, which would leave the castle unguarded, and we could easily free the prisoners then, and steal what we need. Hell, we might even be able to bring the place down brick-by-brick with a _Fiendfyre_ or something. Granger used that on The Madam's House with success, I heard."

Adrian swallowed thickly. "How many days? I don't even know what the date is."

Phil grimaced. "I forgot. You've been here so long. It's in nine days."

Nine days? He'd been here for six weeks? Shit.

"I'll hold out as long as I can," he affirmed in as strong a voice as he could muster. He intended on getting back to Anica no matter what it cost. He'd just force himself to think of her as Wood or someone else tortured him. He could persist. "Just make sure you free me before they convert me. Or if you can't, promise to kill me right along with the rest of the bastards. I won't be a filthy Death Eater. I won't be marked."

Phil's jaw clenched. "I promise," he offered, his eyes glittering in the dim light coming in from under the door. He took Adrian's hand and clasped it tightly. "And I'm gonna kill Megan for you, too."

His lips twisted bitterly. "Good. Make her die spitting blood."

"I intend to," Cadwallader vowed.

When his friend was gone, Adrian leaned back and shut his eyes, envisioning in detail the night he and Anica made love for the first time. She'd been so shy at first, so tentative, and yet when she'd opened up for him, so fiery and true in her responses to his touches, to their bodies joining in every way… Despite how knackered he was, he stroked himself off, and it was the first time in six weeks he'd been able to own his own ejaculation. It felt wonderful.

_Now_, he determined, he was ready for the fight of his life.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	22. Ch 21: Understanding One Another

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

On another aside, I was asked recently what this story's over-arcing theme was, and I think (without giving away too many spoilers), the answer is simply to be found in the title of the piece - TO BEGIN AGAIN. Every main character in this story must go through their own version of what that statement means to them personally, whether it be learning to trust in love (the first time or again), learning to forgive, learning to accept personal tragedy, learning to let go, or learning to build something new from the ashes of their war-torn lives - and in the case of Hermione, at least, all of these lessons combined. The story came about as a result of the loss of my own beloved father last year, and my struggle to make sense of the unfairness of death. I had to learn how to begin again after he was torn so senselessly from my life, and this story bloomed from those thoughts. It is a continual exercise in self-reflective psychoanalysis, as it were. It is my fondest hope that you will take away something poignant from it as well.

**Thank you again UNSEENLIBRARIAN for the beta work! You are the bestest, dahling! **

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**Chapter Twenty-One: **_**Understanding One Another**_

_**Outside Cormac McLaggen's Cottage**_

**Unknown Date (sometime in mid-to-late October, 2000, evening)**

Hermione watched Cormac's face carefully as he cast the spell to burn his mother's cottage to the ground, leaving this part of his life irrevocably behind. For his part, her tall, blond companion said nothing, even his magical cast made with a low voice, but his eyes… There was a lifetime of sorrow in that tawny gaze as he watched the cottage he'd once occupied with his family for holidays – one they'd laughed and made wonderful memories in - fall into an ash heap.

Was it wrong to feel sorry for him? He'd lost everything because of this war – his family, his pride, his sanity and peace, his Gryffindor heart – and what had he done to earn such a bleak, terrible fate? _Nothing_, she thought to herself somewhat bitterly. It hadn't really been McLaggen's fault that he hadn't been strong enough to fight what Mort's people – _Mort, himself_ - had done to him. She couldn't even imagine experiencing forced sleep-deprivation and starvation for weeks, being drugged and made to suffer terrifying hallucinations every single night, and enduring rape and physical torture by both sexes (and multiple partners) every day. Just being on the receiving end of Bellatrix Lestrange's _Crucio _once had been enough suffering for a lifetime… and the truth was, back then, Hermione would have given almost anything to make it stop. She'd kept her secrets only because she'd known what they'd do to her, Ron and Harry once Draco's sadistic aunt discovered the truth about Godric Gryffindor's sword. Her fear had thought up the quick lie that day that had bought them a little time, _not_ her bravery.

So, yeah, maybe it was a failing weakness of her temperament, but Hermione couldn't help but feel compassion for the wizard standing silently next to her.

Despite that, she did not do as she might have done had he been one of her group; she did not reach out to comfort him with a pat on the shoulder or hand, much less offer him a hug. She may have forgiven Cormac McLaggen, but she could not forget his part in so much suffering. It was best to leave distance between them.

"I'll need my wand," she informed him evenly, not wanting to disturb his inner thoughts, but feeling the weight of time pressing upon them both.

He shook his head. "I didn't have time to grab both it and you during the fighting. Sorry."

Which meant, if it was still about, it would be lying in the grass somewhere in Kirkwall. "Then we go back to the last place we saw it."

Shaking his head more firmly, he grabbed her arm somewhat roughly, taking in the surrounding area with a sweeping gaze, and quickly moved them off into an area of nearby woods, having deemed it safe upon their emerging from the cottage earlier with a "_Hominem Revelio_" spell. "Too dangerous. We need to find your friends and get you back under wards quick, before _he _comes looking for you mentally again."

There was no question as to whom he was referring; it had been his greatest fear that Mort would find them, and even with the wards as strong as they had been around the cottage, the fact that Cormac was terrified of being found told her that such spells would have been easily picked apart by the Dark Lord – which said something about his magical strength.

"There is no other way for me to get a wand, except to steal one - which would alert the Death Eaters to our location," she hissed, pulling her arm from his tight grasp. "I either go back for my wand, or I have no weapon and can't fight – which is unacceptable."

Stalking through the small grove, Cormac kept his wand at the ready, his eyes constantly shifting, occasionally looking back over their shoulders. "Granger, you're going to get us killed," he grit. "I'll steal you another bloody wand."

Stopping abruptly, she understood his implication in a moment and spat at him in rising anger. "How, by killing the owner? Way to turn yourself around, McLaggen."

He reached for her again, but she pulled away, giving him a warning with her eyes and clenched jaw. Dropping his hand in frustration, he remained paranoid, his eyes everywhere, searching continually for trouble. "Would you care if it were a Death Eater I killed to get one for you?"

Shaking her head, she started off again. "I'd rather go without than to have to _touch_ one of their wands, thanks. They've murdered thousands…"

"Millions," he corrected, seemingly unaffected by such numbers, more concerned with their current predicament. "Between the islands and the continent, it's been tens of millions. Quite easy to do when you can level a whole city like a Muggle bomb."

Good God, _millions_? How could that be? It had only been two years since Mort came into power fully…

Hermione was still haunted by the memories of the corpse pits she'd once seen dug in the outskirts of London. To imagine those trenches stretching for miles, piled with the dead… She almost stopped again, this time to vomit, but Cormac's hand once more yanking her arm kept her moving. He forced her along beside him, and she numbly followed without protest. In this way, they traveled through the trees, reaching the edge of a small village after several minutes, where he stopped and knelt down, dragging her after him, as he surveyed the small township for danger.

"What cities?" she whispered, almost afraid to know.

Cormac sighed. "Belfast, Stockholm, Frankfurt, Naples, Belgrade. Pretty much one major city in every country in Europe. It's how he got them all to heel."

One major city…

_Breathe_, she firmly instructed herself, trying not to sick up her breakfast. A sheen of dewy perspiration dotted her brow and upper lip, and she focused on the road sign that led into the small Muggle populated area ahead: _Lochanhead Welcomes You_.

She'd _known_ the numbers of casualties had been bad from their contact with the continent's resistance movement, and she'd seen herself some of the damage here at home, but that many in so short a time? What the fuck?

No, there was no time for anger. It was done now. No good would come from her breaking down over all those lost souls. What mattered was preventing any of it from happening again.

"You want to win your soul back from the Devil, Cormac, you come with me and help end this war. You make restitution to those millions whose lives _you_ helped destroy by joining the cause of evil," she turned hard eyes on him and stood up. "Otherwise, go crawl into a hole somewhere and die for all I care. Either way, I'm going to Kirkwall." Her tone was resolute, brooking no argument.

McLaggen stared up at her for several moments quietly, his eyes assessing every nuance of her face, and then shaking his head, clearly thinking the plan foolish, he stood as well and held out his hand to her. "To Kirkwall, then," he conceded with a weary sigh.

She hesitated to take his hand, and they locked gazes as the awkwardness of the situation flowed over them. _No choice_, she reminded herself, as he was the one with the wand. Bloody hell, she hated Side-Along Apparition though. Cupping his hand with hers, quieting the internal flutter of fear that overcame her as their skin touched once more, she inhaled and exhaled quickly, waiting for that 'fish-hook' pull that always made her feel ill.

To her surprise, McLaggen stepped that bulky, well-muscled body into her private space instead, pressing their chests together, and wrapped his free arm about her tight. "If they're still there for whatever reason, I'll try to shield you. Take my wand and get out if I fall."

Frozen by instant terror at the feel of this man so close once more, Hermione could only nod slightly. But there was only a second to feel the unease, as in the next instant, they jumped.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Unknown Date (sometime in mid-to-late October, 2000 – minutes later)**

Coming to a complete halt after moving so abruptly jolted Hermione and unconsciously, she reached out and gripped Cormac's bicep for support, squeezing his hand tighter. Whether by instinct or some other reason, he tightened his hold around her, pulling her in, his gaze taking in their surroundings quickly. It was bitterly cold – no more than five or five and a half degrees Celsius - and a light rain fell to splatter upon their clothing, hair and faces.

"_Hominem Revelio_," her companion cast in all four directions, but it seemed that they were really alone. No Death Eater encampment had been set up here to catch the rebellion, in case it decided upon a return visit. Her luck, it seemed, was holding for the moment.

Cormac glanced about at the ground, before finally letting her go and stepping back. "It's too dark to see. We'll have to camp tonight and look first thing, sunrise."

Hermione hated the unnecessary delay – she wanted so badly to get back to Draco's side quickly – but she understood his caution. "I'll get the tent up, you cast the spells of protection," she offered, reaching into the bag she'd bespelled with an Undetectable Extension Charm just before they'd left (packing all his things, and then some, into it).

There was no response, but she heard him turn away and begin casting "_Muffliato_" and "_Protego Totalum_."

"Don't forget _Cave Inimicum_ and _Salvio Hexia_," she reminded him and he merely grunted in response, walking a circle about the area of their small encampment, adding her suggestions to the mix. By the time he'd finished, she had their tent up, a Warming Charm established inside… and a clear delineation mark where her bunk and his would be on opposite sides of the structure, each separated by curtains.

After sharing a silent meal together of cheese and pickle sandwiches with a single-serving bag of Walkers Crisps split between them, they called it an early night and each retired to their side of the divide. That night, Hermione left her clothes and boots on, just in case.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Unknown Date (next morning)**

Hermione was up first, and already out of the tent, searching for the spot where her wand might have been last seen. Unfortunately, her spirits sank as she looked out over the field of what used to be tall, waving grasses, and saw only scorched, blackened earth stretching far out on the horizon. It was hard to tell where the encampment had been.

Using a set of glacially-deposited boulders that she recalled having been at least .8 kilometers out from camp, on the east side, she tried to backtrack to the point where their defensive line had stood. She found it after half an hour of traipsing about, noting it by the extensive dark patch of soil, where she'd begun the fire. Locating approximately where she might have squatted down next to Viktor, she turned to her right and looked down across the soil…

…and found Alin Istok's bones. The ribs had been popped by the heat of the fire, but they hadn't melted, and were sticking out at odd angles, some already covered by the wind dragging dirt over them in the intervening weeks since the incident.

Turning about to her left, looking northwest, she found Jason Swann. Or rather, what was left of him. Same story as Istok, minus a skull.

Numbly, she walked to the site of his toppled remains, the young man she hadn't bothered to get to know, and who had wanted really nothing more than to go to America, to seek some peace for his war-weary soul.

Hestia Carrow would be somewhere on the field, too, she absently remembered…

Maybe the fire hadn't touched Anthony Rickett, as he'd been buried already…

All at once, it became too much, and the sobs overtook her. Falling to her hands and knees, she cried for all the losses. Years of pent-up rage and guilt and sorrow had her screaming, crying uncontrollably, clawing at the ground as she tried to dig so she could bury Jason away in the earth, where he belonged. So she wouldn't have to look at him ever again and see her failure to protect him, and others like him.

Her hands were roughly pulled away from their task, and to her amazement, they were bloodied, filthy, a little wet from her falling tears. "Mud…blood," she laughed hysterically, noting what her hands looked like. "_Fucking, bloody mudblood!_"

"Enough, Granger."

Cormac held her wrists firmly and shook her once. Those golden-brown eyes held hers in anger.

"I said that's enough."

He never raised his voice, but his calm restraint did the trick nonetheless. Instantly, she stopped all motion, as if a switch had been flicked 'off' inside her heart.

They sat like that for God knew how long – long enough for her to calm, to find reason and sanity again.

"We'll bury them, if you'd like," he offered gently and helped her to her feet. "First, we need to heal you, though. Did you eat breakfast?"

Shaking her head, she sniffed away her tears. "No, I wanted to find my wand quickly."

Transfiguring a nearby stone into a stick with a waving piece of red cloth at the end, he staked it into the ground to mark the location for later. "Come on, then," he guided her, keeping a hold of one of her wrists as he led them back towards their tent.

Along the way, they re-entered an area that still had lumps of native grass (the wind must have changed the course of the fire before it could reach this spot), and she tripped, but her companion caught and balanced her quickly. As she looked down at her clumsy feet, it took her a moment to recognize what she was seeing, and then she let out an incredulous, little laugh. "I'll be," she murmured, letting Cormac go and kneeling in the grass, picking up her wand. It wasn't burned at all.

"Now _that_ is bloody lucky, Granger," Cormac shook his head in amazement, smirking. "It's either your good karma, or my Irish side is rubbing off."

She looked up, the strangest thought occurring to her. "I thought 'McLaggen' was a Scottish name."

He tilted his head in curiosity, staring down at her as she knelt at his feet. "My father was from Northern Ireland, my mother from Wales."

"Hmmm, I always figured you for a Scot," she stated cheekily, her knees cracking as she stood up. Moving on towards the tent without another word, he caught up in two strides. Along the way, she _Scourgify'd _her whole body, then cast a healing charm on her hands, repairing the torn nails and closing the minor scratches.

Having her wand back in hand made her feel powerful again – like the witch she was meant to be, not that scared, tired, pathetic thing that had crawled around back there in the dirt. Purpose was driven back into her bones, solidifying her devotion to her cause, helping her to set aside her own personal demons for the time being.

Tomorrow, she would to lay her friends to rest. It was time to say 'goodbye' to Kirkwall properly, so she could move on.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Unknown Date (later that evening, sundown)**

They'd carefully located Anthony Rickett's grave near the boulders (the carving in the rock was a nice touch, and she wondered who'd done such a thoughtful thing), and they buried Jason, Alin and Hestia (whose remains they'd finally located after a far and wide search, right at the cusp of the sun hitting the horizon). For his part, Cormac hadn't complained once, and he'd been extremely helpful in gathering up the bones and helping her to plant them properly in shallow graves. Like with Rickett, they carved the names into the boulder above the three new plots.

"When this is all over, I'm going to make a memorial to them all," she vowed. "Everyone will know their heroism. I won't let anyone ever forget their names."

McLaggen said nothing for the longest time. He simply stood at her shoulder, the ruined side of his face in silhouette just as the sun disappeared, a forlorn and soul-broken man.

They stayed there only a few more minutes before returning to the tent. She made a meal of canned beans and bacon, toasting some bread over a small, hidden flame that she built outside, using spells to cover up the lights and smoke and smell of cooking pork. He made them tea using a controlled _Aguamenti_ and a warming charm. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

In her bunk, she lay looking up at the canvas ceiling, wondering what Malfoy was doing just then. Was he safe? Had he found Astoria yet? Did he miss her or did he think her dead? Had he moved on into the arms of one of the other witches in camp? She wouldn't blame him if he had. If he thought her dead, two months was a long time in war to be without companionship…

"I know it doesn't count for much," Cormac said aloud from his bunk on the other side of the room, behind all the curtains between them, "but I'm sorry for all of it. For hurting you especially, Hermione. I…" He paused, and she waited, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "I regret hurting you the most. More than the killing, more than the destruction. If there was anyone I never wanted to hurt, it was you."

She had to know his motivations. She'd been waiting for him to answer her questions, and now seemed the right time to push. "Why? And why did you save me? What changed you so drastically?"

The silence that greeted her was oppressive. It weighed for a long time between them, only the sound of her breath and heart to interrupt it in her ears. She'd just about given up and closed her eyes to sleep, thinking he wouldn't answer any more now than he would when she'd first woken up in his cottage, when he surprised her once again.

"_Can a man know all his hopes in the countenance of a beautiful woman?_" he quoted a poem he'd once written to her, so long ago. "_Can he exist without either?"_

It took her three tries to get her question out. "Are you saying that you have… deep feelings… for me? That you have, all these years?"

A pregnant pause was met with his deep sigh. "Goodnight, Granger."

Clearly, she wasn't going to get Cormac McLaggen's bald-faced admission of any kind of feeling.

Perhaps, though, she no longer needed to.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Kirkwall, Orkney Islands**_

**Unknown Date (next morning)**

They took breakfast in that same awkward silence that had existed between them all along, and then broke down the tent together, shoving it back into her Bag of Holding.

"Where to?" he asked, looking out at the horizon, scanning for problems, as he was wont to do in his (understandable and rightly vigilant) paranoia.

Now that she had her wand back, it occurred to her that she could, at any time, slip away from McLaggen, leaving him in her Apparition dust, so to speak. However, Sning (as she'd taken to think of her companion Snake-Ring) had advised her course of action in regards to him. Sure, the odd, enchanted jewelry piece had been quiet since Cormac had altered her magical aura to escape Harry's detection, but it had cautiously counseled her just before then to help out her former Housemate. The question was: how much trust did she place in Sning? It had saved her once, true, and seemed to be genuine in its faithful service to her, but how did she know it wasn't a dark artifact meant to lead her astray? It _had _belonged to the Malfoys, after all, but Draco had no idea what the ring was actually capable of, clearly.

No choice – she'd have to trust it, for now. So far, it hadn't done her wrong.

"Malfoy said they were jumping to Ireland," she explained. "I've been once, but that area isn't safe. It was crawling with Dementors. It was some kind of breeding ground for them, I think. We got in and left the next day, no hanging about unnecessarily. I'd rather not have to go back there, if you don't mind."

Cormac's grin was slow and filled with a familiar arrogance. "Did you not hear what I said yesterday?" He crossed his arms and smirked, acting more like the prat Cormac McLaggen from their past. "I can get us as far as my Grandmum's in Newry."

Dawning understanding made her shake her head with amazement. "Right – you're half-Irish." With a last look around, she sighed and held her hand out to him. "Alright, Mr. Wizard, do your thing."

To her surprise, he assumed the same position as the day before during Apparition. As his arms came about her, Hermione's heart leapt with that same instinctual fear; no matter his supposed 'reformation,' she would never again feel comfortable around this man. Too much had transpired between them.

Dipping her head and hiding her blush at the thought of him having once seen and touched her nude, she stared at his Muggle shirt, and tried for something to diffuse the gnawing discomfort. "I guess it _was_ your luck yesterday that helped me find my wand."

His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest and vibrated through her whole body. "One good karma point for me - finally."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Newry, Ireland (Cormac McLaggen's Grandmum's house)**_

**Unknown Date (several minutes later)**

As soon as they touched down and Cormac had released her, finding their location 'safe,' she moved quickly away, taking in the scenery of his Grandmum's backyard, concentrating on the mission goals, already considering how they were going to get from Northern Ireland to the Wicklows, wherever the hell they were – _anything_, but look at him.

The neighborhood, she noticed almost instantly, was too quiet.

"They've been here already," she whispered, scenting the air and noting a light fragrance of wood smoke. "I think… we should get inside."

Cormac moved to the back door and one _Alohamora_ later, the thing opened easily.

"Wait! No wards? No security?" she asked, restraining him with a hand on his arm from stepping through the doorway. "Was your Grandmum always so lax?"

He considered it for a second then shook his head. "No. She always had big dogs for protection, too."

Hermione glanced around at the empty kennel in the corner of the lot. "Cut your hand and wipe it on the door," she instructed warily.

McLaggen obviously understood what she was getting at. He lifted his wand and made an incision in his palm; cherry-colored fluid welled to the surface and he rubbed it across the wooden frame. "Blood wards."

"Exactly," she replied, keeping her attention fixed behind them for the moment, her wand at the ready. "Makes sense that anyone would want their family safe if they needed to cross the threshold into their relative's home."

Turning about, she noted the blood absorbed by the door, and knew she'd guessed right. Something clicked, and then the door opened itself further, allowing them entry. They walked in, her partner-in-crime taking the lead. Hermione shut the door behind them.

"Grandmum?" he called out, concerned. "It's Cormac. Gram?"

They checked every level – the house was abandoned, and it seemed as if it had been planned in advance. Closets and food pantries were cleaned out, important memorabilia was gone from walls and mantles and end tables, jewelry was absent from the box on the dresser – even some books had been removed from the built-in shelf in the main living area.

"At least it seems she left on her own, in advance," she offered him when McLaggen looked uneasy. "She probably caught a boat to America or found a safe house to stay in. Do you have any relatives nearby?"

He considered it. "Cousins, uncles, aunts. They all lived here or a few towns away, last I heard, anyway. We rarely visited. Dad was too busy with work."

"Perhaps she's with one of them."

Cormac shrugged. "Maybe." He crept towards the front windows and peeked out through the curtains. "Regardless, it seems that something happened here. No one's out on the streets and it's as silent and dead as a tomb out there."

"Either everyone left like your Gram, or they're all hiding inside their houses," Hermione sighed, picking a throw pillow off the floor and replacing it on the sofa.

"Or they're dead," her macabre companion stated rather coldly detached, moving away from the window. "No matter the reason, we can't stay here. Snatchers rarely leave a place alone after it's been abandoned – thieves, the lot - and Death Eaters sometimes return randomly to see if anyone was foolish enough to come back."

Hermione leaned against the wall separating the kitchen area from the living room and crossed her arms over her chest. "And what of Trackers? Do we have to worry about them?"

Cormac's face shut down, although ire burned in those golden eyes of his. "No, Granger, Trackers are usually sent on a very specific mission – infiltration, assassination or public execution of someone Mort doesn't particularly like and wants to make an example of. Their talents aren't wasted on trivial things like rounding up citizenry for torture, mass crucifixions or conversions."

He was trying to provoke a fight with her. Why?

"There was no judgment implied in my question. I was simply asking for security reasons. No need for the defensive stance, Cor."

He dropped his eyes, looking to the side. "If you're not judging me, then why'd you leap away from me as soon as we got here?"

Oh. He'd noticed that.

"You know why," she countered, not wanting to bicker as she was much too tired, but refusing to give him a free pass just because he'd saved her once. She still didn't trust him, didn't know his ultimate intentions, and honestly, didn't like him as a person all that much, even if she did feel a little sorry for the crap hand he'd been dealt in this war.

"I've apologized," he sullenly retorted. "I'm sorry, Granger. I'm so _bloody_ sorry that I feel like I'm bleeding all over the place! I know that I can't take back what I stole from you, or how much I hurt you. I know you'll never trust me fully. I know it's probably too late to… earn anything more than your pity." He ran a hand over his eyes, through his hair, and down to caress the area of his jaw that Sning had been responsible for damaging. "But it's true that I'll regret what happened between us - both times - all the rest of my life."

"Good," she heartlessly informed him, and he looked up at her surprised. "If that's enough to help reform you, then I can live with your guilt and self-loathing and your constant need to make it up." She turned her back on him and moved off into the kitchen, continuing to talk to him as she went, undaunted by the fact she'd turned her back on him. "You'll earn your redemption, Cor, with your blood and your sweat, and your honest _fucking_ intentions – that is, if you really mean any of it."

Pulling from her Bag a saucepan, she filled it with water from the tap (at least it was still running!), and turned the stove on (and there was electricity, too, so his Gram couldn't have been gone that long), plunking the pan down on an eye. Then, she pulled out a package of pasta, a can of sauce and a can of olives. It was still too early for lunch, but she needed to keep busy, and making their next meal early would help occupy her hands and mind.

Because watching water boil and macaroni cook sure beat the hell out of giving her partner the fight he'd wanted.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Newry, Ireland (Cormac McLaggen's Grandmum's house)**_

**Unknown Date (after lunch)**

"Is it all right to use the shower?" she asked politely, not wanting to take too many liberties in Cormac's family's house without permission.

Sitting in the easy chair across the room, lost in thought, he nodded at her and absently waved a hand in the direction of the stairs leading up to the second floor, where the two small bedrooms and bath were located.

Setting aside the copy of "_Defensive Magical Theory"_ by Wilbert Slinkhard that had been left behind by the former occupant of this house, she made her way to the aforementioned shower with a 'thanks' thrown at her host over her shoulder.

Stripping down and getting under the hot water was an amazingly relaxing feeling, and helped to relieve her tension immediately (her blood pressure had shot up at least one-hundred points after the magical vanity mirror on the wall got into a verbal screaming match with her just prior to stepping in, because it required her to pronounce that _it _was the fairest of them all before it would turn on the spray, and Hermione had refused until badgered into such a ridiculous pronouncement; with a snort she realized that only in a McLaggen or a Malfoy house could something _that_ obnoxious be considered a desirable decorative feature). She'd brought her Bag of Holding in with her, and had extracted soap and shampoo (swiped from the cottage before they'd left), and now used them in combination to scrub up, feeling infinitely better with clean skin and softer hair. Rinsing off, she got out and dressed in fresh clothing, too (also pulled from the Bag).

"You wouldn't happen to know the date and time, would you?" she asked the insufferable mirror, who was primping and hogging up the reflective space, making it hard for Hermione to see as she combed through her hair.

"Why, of course," the mirror replied in a matronly tone that contained all sorts of smug. "But I'm not really feeling the proper motivation right now."

Hermione bit her tongue and tried not to roll her eyes. "Have I mentioned how stunningly delicious you look?"

The mirror sighed in pleasure. "It's Friday, October the twenty-seventh."

"And the time… oh, gorgeous masterpiece of home décor?" Hermione prompted as the mirror went back to primping.

"It's 4:18 p.m." The mirror cooed at itself. "You're welcome."

Wanting to kick the damn thing and crack its surface just to get even, Hermione held her temper and finished up, then made her way back downstairs. "I left you the soap and shampoo, if you want it. And a fresh towel."

Cormac was still sitting in the same chair as earlier, smirking his fool head off. "Met the mirror, did you?"

Making her way into the kitchen to start on dinner, Hermione tsk'd loudly. "What a vile, repugnant embellishment. Why would anyone tolerate such a thing in their home? It's beyond me."

McLaggen let out an honest-to-goodness laugh from the gut. "Gram thought it the height of fashion." He shrugged, grinning from one ear to the other. "Oh, come on, it's not _that _bad."

Hermione stopped, agape, looking at him through the open island separating her room from his. "I suppose _you'd_ think that."

Her traveling companion got to his feet with a smooth motion and leaned over the counter on his end, his hands grabbing the cupboards that hung down over it, bracing his weight upon them. "Was I really that vain back in school?"

Snorting indelicately, she grinned, preparing another saucepan for their canned minestrone soup. "Excruciatingly so."

He came around the counter and leaned against it, watching her, arms crossed casually. "Then why agree to go to Slughorn's Christmas Party that one time?"

She shrugged, not feeling it appropriate to tell him the truth – that she'd done so only to drive Ron barmy. "Because you asked me."

No lie there. Choosing not to embellish the statement with more facts didn't make it a lie.

"And the kiss?"

He was pushing. Clearing her throat, she opened the cans with her wand and plunked the contents into the saucepan and turned on the eye to a low temperature, stirring slowly with a wooden spoon from her Bag. "Magical mistletoe."

That was the truth. Slughorn had charmed magical mistletoe all over the place and she'd stupidly ducked under a sprig without noticing it. Cormac had taken full advantage, even slipping her the tongue – her first Frenchy.

"And the second kiss?"

That one had caught her off-guard. She's allowed him to walk her back to their Common Room, and as she'd said goodnight at the dormitory stairs, he'd impulsively grabbed her and pulled her in for a major snog. She didn't count that time, or their mistletoe kiss, because both had been taken without her permission, really.

She shrugged again. "_You_ kissed _me_ goodnight. I was taken aback by your forwardness, if you'll recall."

Rubbing a hand across his right cheek, he grinned again. "It was worth the slap." He moved in closer, right next to where she was cooking, his invasion of her space making her slightly uncomfortable. "You liked my poetry, though. You said so."

Conceding a nod, she cleared her throat again, continuing to stir. "Well, it was rather nice poetry, yes. And no boy had ever made such a grand gesture for me before. But Cor, that's as far as it went for me. I never developed those kinds of feelings for you."

He was quiet for a few long seconds, and Hermione could swear she could keep the seconds by the quick beating of her heart. It was important for him to understand that there never had been – and never would be – anything more between them.

"You _are_ in love with Malfoy, aren't you?" There was no censure, no anger, merely resigned sorrow in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out, nodding. "For years. I thought it was one-sided until minutes before the battle at Kirkwall began. We confessed our feelings then." Hesitantly, she glanced up at him. "I want to be with him, Cor. I want that more than anything in this world. Do you understand?"

Despondently, he nodded. "That feeling… yeah, I do."

She knew he was speaking of his strange obsession with her that had lasted for almost four years, and for just a tiny second, she felt unhappily responsible. If she had never used him to get at Ron, they would never have gone on that date, or kissed, and he'd have had no reason to write her poetry, and from there… "I'm sorry." He would probably misconstrue the apology, not knowing what exactly she was saying 'sorry' for, but she'd needed to offer it, knowing she'd just broken his heart.

Cormac looked away. "Not your fault. The heart wants what it does. You can't help it."

He took a moment to compose his emotions, and she took those seconds to look at the damage to his face. The muscle under that side was gone, dissolved away by Sning. The skin was knitted over it, but there was scar tissue. She thought that perhaps, once the war was over, he might be able to go to a Muggle plastic surgeon in the States and see if he could have it fixed. They performed miracles on accident victims, she knew from medical and dental journals strewn about her parents' house years ago.

With a conspicuous sniffle, he turned towards the counter where her Bag was, and pulled out two bowls, two cups, two cloth napkins and two spoons, as well as dish soap for their dirties after. Running the glasses under the water, he filled them both and brought them to the small dining nook off the kitchen, placing them on the table and returned to her side, bowls in hand. "Looks done to me."

Stirring one more time for good measure (something her mother had taught her), she ladled soup into their bowls in equal portions. While he took them to the table, she reached into her bag again and pulled out some saltines. With those and the spoons and napkins in hand, she joined him for supper. They talked about Quidditch, by dint of her inquisitiveness, and like she used to do with Ron and Harry, she let her companion drone on and on about the sport and its long-forgotten heroes.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Newry, Ireland (Cormac McLaggen's Grandmum's house)**_

**Friday, October 27, 2000 (sunset)**

Dishes and napkins cleaned and replaced in the Bag, Hermione and Cormac waited for the sun to set before attempting the streets. They exited through the back door, and went over the fence to the next street over, making their way stealthily under Disillusionment Charms and Muffling Charms on their shoes through the blocks. Occasionally, Hermione would stop and look in an auto that looked promising, but hadn't found one with a full tank yet, most appearing to be half or less. Didn't anyone top off anymore?

Right as they neared a location that was close to the highway exit, Hermione found exactly the vehicle they needed – a sporty model that could make good speeds, was an automatic transmission, had a full tank, and admittedly, quite sleek and sexy to boot. Cormac huffed irritably as she cast a charm to silence any potential alarm wired into the car, and then unlocked the door with a few waves of her wand. "Granger, what the hell are you doing with that Muggle… auto-whatsit?"

She had forgotten he came from Pureblood stock. Apparently, he hadn't been paying much attention in Muggle Studies, either. Of course, Professor Burbage (rest her soul) had been crap for a teacher, using too many archaic examples of Muggle technology and slang terms that were behind the times by at least twenty years. "Get in," she unlocked his side with a push of a button and hissed at him to be less conspicuous.

Moving around the car to street side (she had to lean across the seat to open the door for him because he didn't understand what to do with the handle), he sat down rather awkwardly. "Close the door… gently," she instructed.

He pulled with a little too much strength and it slammed shut. Hermione cringed and cursed, sure someone must have heard the sound and would come investigate any minute now. Cormac's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her use of profanities. "We're fishing it," she explained, waving at the car. "This will get us where we want to go quicker than foot, so long as the motor ways aren't jammed."

McLaggen's eyebrows hit his hairline. "_You're_ stealing something?"

Pulling the seatbelt, she clicked it into place, and indicated that Cormac should do likewise. "It's a safety harness. Just do what I did." He figured it out the first time, much to her relief.

Trying to determine how to make the car work, she assumed the easiest thing would be the shoot a small electric current from her wand into the ignition. At least, she hoped that would work. Being extremely careful of how much energy to send through the keyhole, it took three tries before the stylish, dark blue-black BMW M3 roared to life. "Got it now," she stated, turning the headlights on at the same time, thanking her lucky stars that she'd insisted on her father teaching her how to drive the summer going into her Sixth Year, when she was seventeen.

Putting the car into gear, she angled them around, performing a perfect loop, and got onto the carriageway ramp marked "A2." Cormac's eyes bugged out of his head as she zoomed past stalled-out or abandoned vehicles, heading for open road beyond the city. He clung to the strap of his belt with a death grip. "You sure you know how to fly this thing adequately? I'm feeling decidedly nauseated."

From the corner of her eye, she had to admit that he was looking a bit piqued. "It's called motion sickness," she informed him, concentrating back on the road again. "Just close your eyes and lean back," she advised. "Happens to a lot of people."

He did as bade, trusting her implicitly. "I can see why."

Quickly finding the window controls on her steering column, she lowered his so he could get some air, and he leaned his head on the door, instantly relieved. "Honestly, you can fly around on a broom upside down and backwards for _years_, but you can't adjust to a simple Muggle invention that only goes in one direction and never leaves the ground?" She harrumphed.

"This is so much better," he sighed with relief, the wind whipping past his face. "Even if you do need a safety harness."

Hermione shrugged. Sometimes, she just didn't get wizards. "We're going to have to stop pretty soon so we can get a map. I have no idea which direction we need to go."

"Where _are_ we going?" he drawled in curiosity.

Pausing to consider the wisdom of telling him their ultimate goal, she looked at the ring on her finger.

_You there?_

No reply.

Bollocks! She'd have to make this call on her own, with only her intuition to guide her.

"Wicklow Mountains," she replied with a great measure of apprehension rolling about in her guts. "That's where they're supposed to be."

In her heart, she prayed her friends were still there, and that everyone was still alive.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	23. Ch 22: Your Needs Or Mine

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Thank you to **UNSEENLIBRARIAN **for her faithful, loving beta work this chapter! Please remember to say 'thanks' to her in your reviews, folks! Much appreciated!

_**PLEASE REVIEW!**_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: YOUR NEEDS OR MINE?**

**_On the M1 Dual Carriageway, Ireland_**

**_Friday, October 27, 2000 (evening, about 45 minutes out of Newry)_**

Hermione made an ill-advised stop in Dundalk to pinch a map of Ireland's motorways and for a quick loo break. Getting the car started that second time, however, took a lot more effort and finesse (and swearing at the fickle metal beast), and the M3 almost stalled out twice before acquiescing to her desperate cajoling and roaring to life. It seemed, however, that even the fantastical engineering of a BMW could only delay the inevitable. With all of the electrical interference that Mort had created over the Isles after taking charge (specifically to force the Muggles into a state of helplessness, for they relied upon technology for everything), the auto finally gave a sputtering, coughing wheeze and gave in only thirty or so minutes later. It rolled to a dead stop, breathing its last sigh in almost apologetic misery.

"We were coming up on Drogheda," she commented as she and Cormac disappointedly abandoned the vehicle and began walking along the side of the carriageway. "If we keep to it, it's maybe an hour or two walk down the way, at most."

She performed a three-sixty turn and glanced about; they were terribly exposed out here, as there were no trees for cover and the land was fairly flat in all directions. There were few rolling hills dotted here and there, clusters of residential homes sporadically lumped together in the distance, and some sparse shrubbery lining the ditches of the roads, but aside from that, the land was nearly level. "Totally open," she grumbled. "Not good." Even at this time of night, when the sun was set and there was a new moon, so it was nearly pitch black as a result, the idea of not having a natural defense against being spotted unnerved her. True, there didn't appear to be another soul coming in any direction as far as she could see (at least, there was no lantern to signal someone moving about in the dark), but Hermione also knew that there were nocturnal beasts and beings that waited for such a prospect as the one she and her traveling companion were now presenting – two strangers, unsure of the landscape, wandering around alone at night. Ireland was a country of bizarre mythology and superstition, much of which was true, she knew from her readings and research on the wizarding world of the U.K. There were things that lurked here that did not appear elsewhere in the world, driven underground and into hiding long ago by ancient, long-extinct societies that had practiced dark ritual magic. Such creatures were known only to come out when solid opportunity presented itself – such as now, for instance.

Cormac grabbed her arm quite suddenly to stop her from stepping in front of him. "No, I'll take point," he risked a wave of his wand over them, reciting a Disillusionment Charm. "If we run into trouble, Disapparate away to some place safe. Don't think twice and don't look back. I'll do what I can to cover you."

Obviously, her companion was still trying to make it all up to her, working for that redemption he so desperately wanted for his weary soul. For that reason, Hermione chose not to argue. If Cormac wanted to take a death curse for her in atonement, it was his prerogative. The thought made her sad, though, to be honest. The idealist within her wanted to see this man redeem himself without having to throw his life away to do it. Knowing the way karma worked, though, she had a feeling his fate would be exactly that; McLaggen was a walking tragedy just waiting to happen.

"Be my guest," she indicated with a wave that he go before her, and fell into step behind him as he made sure to hug the small amount of bush that lined the sides of the motorway.

They walked in silence, both of them on high alert. The world around them was filled only with sounds of the usual nature; there were absolutely no travelers along the road, not even with horse and cart (the standard method for traveling for Muggles these days). Sning was deathly still despite her several attempts silently to engage it with her mind over the past ten minutes. For some odd reason, the spell Cormac had cast upon her to alter her magical aura seemed to have affected the ring as well, although Hermione could not deduce why that was. Had he accidentally burnt out the sentience in the little accessory?

As they reached the Drybridge overpass, they paused. Several miles to the southeast would be Drogheda, a sizable city of approximately thirty-five thousand residents. Or at least, there should be. From that direction, however, there was nothing but silence, and no lights. To counter the electrical interference, people had turned to fire once more to light their world at night. Even in such dim conditions, there should have at least been _some_ light against the dark backdrop to indicate a city on the horizon. Only blackness greeted their eyes, however.

"Shouldn't we see something of the city," Hermione whispered to her silent companion. She could not see his features well, but as she crept up alongside to keep her voice down, she could sense his stiff posture.

A wind blew in from that direction, and that's when she smelled the truth on the air.

Fire. Rot. Death.

"Oh, _God,_" she whispered, covering her nose.

Cormac reached into his Bag of Holding and pulled out a t-shirt. Tearing it into strips he tied one around his mouth and nose, and then did the same for Hermione. "Keep this on until we're out of range. It's not much, but sickness can travel on the air sometimes."

She nodded, securing the improvised mask and they continued on for a long ways – another half an hour at least – before stopping again. The smell had become almost noxious, and Hermione had to call a halt. "We need to pick a different route," she stated after wiping her mouth of the vomit she'd just up chucked, feeling the acid burn the back of her throat. "Whatever is up ahead, it's obviously horrific, and I don't care to get any closer to find out." She reached into her own Bag of Holding and pulled out a bottle of water, cracking it open and drinking it down, after using some to swish the foul taste from her mouth. As she did so, she glanced around at the darkened residential homes nearby. "No wonder there are no lights. I'm betting they've all buggered out."

"Water supply is probably tainted," Cor informed her, his voice hoarse, as if he were barely holding back his own nausea. "Dead bodies tend to bloat and putrefy in liquid…" He lost it then, turning quickly, falling to his knees and retching quite powerfully.

At least he'd been as polite as possible about it, keeping her from seeing.

Reaching into her Bag again, she pulled out another water bottle and held it out to him to take when he'd regained his feet. "Thanks," he offered and swished several times, spitting the water out before he felt cleansed enough to drink the remaining contents.

It seemed that even a former Tracker, who'd been responsible for his fair share of pretty awful murder and torture, was not immune to basic biologic functions in the face of overwhelming olfactory repugnance. Tactfully, Hermione kept this snarky thought to herself, however.

When McLaggen regained his control, he reached into his own Bag, pulled out some more of the torn t-shirt and ripped off new shreds for both of them – this time, doubling them up. They discarded their soiled masks and replaced them with the fresh ones.

Using her cloak as a shield and crouching down on the ground near some thick bushes, she took her stolen map out and opened it. Cormac joined her, closing the circle around them with his own cloak to assure no light could be seen, and she summoned a very dim _Lumos _to her wand tip to study their options. "I figure we're close to Killineer. What do you think? Head west, and then cut south-southeast when it's safe?" she indicated, pointing a circular path around the map. "If Drogheda was hit, it's a bet Dublin near the coast was, too, and I don't relish smelling the stink of a city that size."

Cormac nodded, his finger following a path. "We'll move west across the land to the N2 to N51 to reach the M3. Cut across open ground again until we get to the M4. Pull a wide circle, back towards the southeast at that point. We'll have avoided Dublin all together that way. Best place to stop at that point…" He considered it carefully, and pointed to a small town called 'Blessington' on the border of the Wicklow Mountains National Park. "Here. From there, we'll have to search about until we find your friends." He ran his forearm over his brow to wipe away sweat. "We might be able to use a _Point Me_ spell to find them, then, as we'd probably be close enough, but I have a feeling they've spelled against that possibility."

Hermione nodded. "_Salvio Hexia_ cast right after the Unplottable spell on the encampment_._ Standard defense."

"It'll take days to find them on foot, then," Cormac tsk'd. "We'll be walking right into run-off and muddy, marshy ground at any lower elevations. Higher, we're trekking through snow. Either way, it'll be slow going, and we'll not only look suspicious wandering around out there aimlessly, but we'll be completely defenseless if anyone sees us, regardless of the time of day."

An idea occurred to Hermione. It was dangerous, but given their options… "We could transfigure ourselves into wolves and run. They're about the same mass as a human, can cover ground much faster, their senses are more alert, and they aren't usually noticed, easily mistaken for large feral dogs from a distance. Once we get to Wicklow, enhanced smell will help us find the group easier, too."

McLaggen contemplated the idea, his eyes narrowed on her face. "You ever done that before? 'Cause I know I haven't, and I'm no Animagi."

Hermione let out a shaky breath. "I've done it, in demonstration while teaching someone else how to hold the form. But never long term." She looked down at the map again. "I know we can't stay in the shape for too long, though. I've heard that it's much too tempting to become lost in the allure of pack and forget to be human." Her finger trailed over the half-circular path Cormac had decided upon, measuring the distance, using the map's key. "It's approximately one hundred kilometers or thereabouts to Blessington going by your route. Wolves can travel at about eight kilometers an hour at loping speed – the safest way to travel in unchartered territory, and humans can pull about four kilometers an hour at walking speed. If we only travel at night – giving us about ten hours of darkness for cover – and we take shifts, traveling two hours in wolf form, two hours not, that'll be approximately…" she did the math in her head, "sixty kilometers per day. At that rate, it'll take us a little less than two nights to reach the edge of Wicklow."

"No, _at least_ two full nights, if not a bit more," Cormac disagreed. "We're going to need to stop for food, water and privacy breaks on occasion, don't forget. And let's hope we don't run into Death Eaters or we'll really be slowed up. For that reason, we should take it a bit slower, more cautious, even with no moon in the sky to mark us easily."

Itching to get back to her people – to _him_, specifically – Hermione was annoyed with the delay, but she also understood McLaggen's logic.

Forcibly, she nodded in agreement. "All right, then. If you don't object, I'd like to get started now. It's only just now about two hours after sunset – around eight o'clock. We've got a good eleven or twelve hours until sunrise." She folded up the map and dropped it back in her Bag, extinguishing her wand's light with a whispered, "_Nox._"

They stood up and looked west, across the carriageway, towards the green grass beyond, cautious of the nearby houses. "I have to teach you how to change yourself into a wolf first, so we're going to need a place to hold up for about two or three hours while you practice it." She nodded towards a nearby house. "What do you think? Try our hand at quietly finding an abandoned one and going through a window?"

She couldn't see Cormac's face, but she could hear the grin in his tone. "Naughty, naughty, Granger. You're becoming a common criminal! First you steal the auto-whats-it, and now you're contemplating breaking and entering." He sinisterly chuckled. "My bad ways must be rubbing off."

Hermione elbowed him lightly. "You wish."

He shrugged. "Maybe I do."

Taking off across the road before she could reply, McLaggen moved swiftly, dropping into the ditch that lined the other side. With an exasperated sigh, she followed. Within twenty minutes, they'd found an abandoned home and took up temporary residence. That's where she taught him the art of animal Transfiguration.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland_**

**Saturday, October 27, 2000 (night)**

It was inevitable, Ginny supposed, given their very close quarters over the last few days - sleeping in the same bed every night, cuddling up for warmth and companionship, talking for hours, conspiring how to kill Death Eaters - that she would find herself attracted to Philip Cadwallader. He _was_ a fairly handsome young man, rather crafty, incredibly intelligent, and his loneliness was a plaintive echo that reached out to her and pulled at her heartstrings.

Truthfully, she wanted to shag him raw. It had been a very long time for her to feel sexual attraction for any man – since Harry had taken her virginity, the night before the Final Battle. That was two years and another lifetime ago. After losing her childhood love she hadn't wanted another relationship. Not that there had been time to even consider one, as initially she'd been too busy mourning Harry and all those who were lost, and then later, had thrown herself whole-heartedly into helping her family build up the resistance movement overseas.

It was Bill, with a pregnant Fleur in tow, who'd hurriedly dragged her and the rest of their family as far away as possible to protect them in the days following Mort's initial appearance, recognizing in this new Dark Lord an even greater power than his previous incarnation. They'd run to the United States – sunny California - taking with them as many refugees from their world as they could muster. There, the eldest Weasley son had become their _de facto_ leader, helping the survivors to regroup, to resupply, to carry on and rebuild in a land that, for all its shared history with Britain, was still quite foreign in speech and mannerisms. It had taken time to adjust, to establish their place and to co-mingle with the American wizards.

In retrospect, Ginny now understood that if not for that important distance, she would surely have gone mad after Harry had died, for she still knew in her heart that _all _of this – the continued war, the death and destruction all about - was entirely _her fault_. After all, if she hadn't been captured and held for ransom by Voldemort in that final hour of the fighting, Harry would never have surrendered, trading himself away for her safety. He wouldn't have died as he had…

She shuddered with the recurring, stabbing pain in her skull as her mind again encountered that impenetrable gray wall in her subconscious that she knew to be caused by an _Obliviate_ spell. Harry's ultimate fate was a memory that had been deliberately taken from her by her father, who had apologetically admitted to the act of mercy after the fact, but had refused to restore the recollection despite her numerous pleas. Knowing the final moments of her boyfriend's life were lost to her forever was quite painful, honestly; Ginny would never know the extent of Harry's true suffering.

Perhaps, as her family had insisted, though, that was for the best, for the truth would undoubtedly cripple her. It had certainly given awful nightmares to both George and her mother, who had had been made to take a concoction of Peace and Sleeping draughts for months after their desperate escape from the British Isles.

Yes, the time away had afforded her the right to grieve, to grow stronger on her own so that now, she wasn't crippled by losing Ron or Percy or Harry anymore. Taking that time to train properly in magical and physical defense, taught how to fight by her brothers and the other wizards and witches who had flocked to them in secret to set-up their global network of resistance, she'd been happy to be deemed ready to return to the skirmish just three months prior. Taking on the assignment of finding Hermione and her small band of resistance fighters here in England, to get them the news of the master plan to attack _en masse_ this December, she'd returned to these shores of her birth land a changed woman.

She was ready to bring this war to an end, and hopefully, to find absolution for her unwitting part in it.

The door to Phil's room opened, and she hunched down out of reflex to hide her presence, just in case. The spells he'd placed on the door were strong, but one never knew. And since she didn't have a wand yet, it was better to be safe rather than sorry.

His dark head peeked in, followed by the rest of him. In his hands, he carried a tray of food that he'd prepared himself, she knew, refusing to eat anything the kitchen elves fixed to be on the safe side. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized as the door shut behind him, sealing them into the silencing charm he'd placed on the room, making it safe for them to talk. "I tried to see Adrian again, to give him a potion to help keep him sharp. He wasn't in his cell though." He frowned. "I think they took him out to torture him some more."

Ginny knew all about the situation in the castle, as well as the fact that Phil was still looking for his final missing teammate, Astoria Greengrass, who was apparently pregnant with Draco Malfoy's baby and had been taken by, he suspected, Megan Jones, who was a surprising enemy. The girl had been sorted into Hufflepuff, but apparently, she was as far from harmless and kind as most of her House had been. Ginny wondered what could have happened to the woman to change her into the sadistic bitch that Phil had described.

Sitting on the bed, cross-legged, she took the tray from Phil. He took up a mirror position across from her, and they shared the food he'd brought, as usual.

Ginny was chewing on a piece of cheese when she asked the important question. "Any idea when you can steal me a wand?"

Phil glanced at her sheepishly. "If I steal anything now, it could jeopardize the mission."

Perhaps it was time to tell him her ultimate reason for allowing herself to be captured. "I'm on a mission, too, Phil, and I need a wand pronto to complete it. We have to get the thing I came here for before we leave on the thirty-first. It's hidden in the castle, and only I know where it is."

Raising an eyebrow at that, Phil put two-and-two together. "You _let_ yourself get captured?"

She nodded. "Hoping they'd bring me here. We'd heard rumors that females with any magical ability were always brought to The Fortress, and not killed outright. We assumed it was because Mort wanted to start up, or already had going a breeding program to produce the next generation of loyal Death Eaters."

Phil put down the piece of bread that he'd been about to tear into. "Did you know that there was the possibility that you'd be… raped?"

She ducked her head, focusing her attention on her beige woolen socks – they were getting thin at the heel - and nodded. "I cast a prolonged Contraceptive and Disease Charm on myself just before coming out of hiding for that eventuality."

He was silent, contemplating her sacrifice.

"Does that disgust you?" she asked, hesitant, almost worried about his answer. Here was a guy she was starting to like. How awful would she look in his eyes now that he knew she was willing to do whatever it took to achieve her goals of destroying the Dark Lord and his regime?

Gentle fingers cupped her chin and forced her gaze. To her immense relief, Phil's coffee-colored eyes were filled with understanding. "Not at all. I think you're super brave."

Her tentative smile was teased from her by her next thought. "Gryffindor to the end," she repeated the mantra of her former House.

The atmosphere grew charged with sexual tension, and Ginny was unable to look away, her heart picking up its paces as she assessed his reaction. Heat crawled into the crevices of his face, into his gaze. _Do it,_ she thought. _Kiss me. Go on. What are you waiting for? Do it. Do it. Do it._

"Oh, hell," he murmured and let her go, sitting back, breaking the moment.

Awkwardness reigned supreme, driving Ginny half mad. _He's here to poison Death Eaters, not to fuck you to within an inch of your life - no matter how much you may want it. Grow up, Ginevra!_

"What's this task you're here to complete?" he asked, breaking the long silence, ripping a piece off the bread with nice, straight, white teeth.

Ginny contemplated telling him the truth. Bill had sworn her to not tell a soul, but she knew that with Phil's help, she could succeed in her task with greater ease. His status as Macnair's favorite granted him the opportunity to have her – and that meant he could take her about the castle at his leisure, as Megan did with her pets (according to Phil, who came back distressed every time he spied Oliver Wood or Adrian Pucey being tormented by her). "How much do you know about the three Deathly Hallows?" she asked, finding this a good spot to start.

Phil's brow lowered. "You mean from '_Tales of_ _Beedle The Bard'_?"

She nodded.

He shrugged. "I read the story as a kid. Why?"

Taking a deep breath, she explained their importance to the cause. "Because they really exist and if we can possess all three of them, we can kill Mort." Pushing hair out of her eyes, she looked him in the face. "I'm here for something Harry hid away before the final battle - something connected to the legend of the Hallows. He showed me where to find this... _thing_... in case I needed it to make a quick escape during the fighting."

Phil looked at her like she'd lost a screw somewhere along the way. "It's a kid's story."

She shook her head firmly. "Before he died, Dumbledore confided in three people whom he hoped would guide Harry in the days ahead – Remus Lupin, my father and Severus Snape. He told them that The Deathly Hallows _really_ existed. The Headmaster had researched them for most of his life, and believed they would be the key to defeating Voldemort. Just before I got sent on this mission, my father re-read for me the '_Tales of Beedle'_ and told me the story of Dumbledore's discussion with him in the days before he died."

"Why?" Phil asked, clearly intrigued.

Moment of truth, Ginny thought, looking him in the eye. "Because the thing I'm here for is_ the _Invisibility Cloak from the story - given to Harry by Dumbledore when he'd been younger as part of the Potter family inheritance. Harry was a direct descendant of the man who initially made the cloak, you see."

Phil's dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. He opened his mouth with what, she guessed, would be another question, but she held up a hand to hold him off. "Let's step back a bit so you'll get the whole picture. The Hallows were made hundreds of years ago by the three Peverell brothers - wizards who were considered the most powerful of their age. The siblings were _fiercely_ competitive with each other, and so they concocted a scheme to each create a magically-imbued item that would be the most powerful of its kind. Each brother was a specialist in a specific type of magic, you see. The eldest brother, Antioch, was a powerful dueler and strong in offensive and defensive hex magic. He created a special Wand that supposedly had a type of sentience all its own. This wand seems to be aware of its owner, and will only allow itself to be used by the wizard or witch who defeats its last master. We know this wand is currently in Lord Mort's hands by what Severus was able to send to us before he went into hiding last year. The youngest Peverell brother, Ignotus, was a master of Transfiguration and Charms. He created the very first Invisibility Cloak. The Cloak is here in the castle, hidden away. I know where it is, but we'll need a wand to retrieve it."

Phil assessed her through narrowed eyes. "So, saying you do get your hands on the Cloak, you still can't do anything about the Wand just yet... unless you intend on using the Cloak to walk right up to Mort and take it from his hand." Ginny gave him a flat stare and his jaw dropped. "You _do_ intend on using the Cloak to walk right up and steal it from under his nose. Huh. Clever idea, that." He seemed both amazed and admiring of such an insanely gutsy plan. "Okay, so what about the third item - the middle brother's contribution?"

Ginny let out a deep sigh. "Cadmus Peverell, the second sibling, was a master of Time magic and interested in Necromancy. As you know from the story, he owned 'The Resurrection Stone' – although, truthfully, it's not a stone at all, but a gem. It's a rare multi-colored sapphire that he attuned to the spirit world – which is an important point to remember for later on in this story."

She held up a hand to pause the story and gobbled down some cold cuts and bread, her stomach protesting its emptiness. Washing it down with some tea, she then continued her story, temporarily sated.

"Okay, so from what Dumbledore could find out before his death, Cadmus had made the stone to try to resurrect the woman he'd hoped to make his _second_ wife. His _first _wife had died years before birthing their only child, and after years of mourning her, he finally met someone else and fell in love again. When his new betrothed came down with some illness and died before their wedding, he became obsessed with trying to resurrect her, angry at Death for twice cheating him of his happiness. It took him years of effort and research, but he finally managed to use the sapphire as a conduit between the living world and the spirit world. However, just as the story in "_Beedle_" goes, Cadmus discovered that nothing can bring the dead back as they were. He couldn't _really_ resurrect anyone, just call their shade from across the Veil and trap it on this side, bound to the gem, until he released it. The woman he'd hoped to make his second wife was as dead and gone as his first wife, and he was so depressed by his failure that he committed suicide. The sapphire was then given into the care of his first wife's son, Raphe Peverell, who broke it in half in the hopes of limiting its power. He didn't want anyone else to suffer as his father had under the gem's magical ability. Raphe crafted the halves into jewelry to give to his two daughters as part of his family's legacy. With me so far?" she asked, stopping to catch her breath. Phil enthusiastically nodded, his handsome face a mask of intense interest. "Good, because the _really important part_ comes next," she qualified.

She took a sip of tea from the cup on the tray, needing to whet her drying mouth. "So, we have the broken gem, right?" she continued, setting the mug back down. "Well, the first half – the gray-black part of the sapphire - was set into a ring that was magically-bespelled to help the wearer always determine another wizard or witch's pureblood status. It was given as a wedding present to Raphe's eldest daughter. She married directly into Salazar Slytherin's family lineage. Eventually that ring ended up in the hands of the last surviving member of her family: Lord Voldemort. Dumbledore located it years ago and destroyed its abilities because it had some sort of mystical connection to Voldemort's soul. It can't be used for our purposes any longer as a result. However…" and here she dramatically paused and held up a finger, "the second piece of the broken gem – a yellow-greenish sapphire - was fitted into _another_ ring, which was magically-imbued to protect its wearer at all costs. That ring was given as a wedding present to Raphe's youngest daughter, who married an infamous pureblood extremist of the times – a man known to have violent tendencies. The Peverells were firmly behind the "purebloods-only" banner, generally speaking, but clearly Raphe didn't want his daughter to be harmed, either. The ring was meant to reinforce her safety, although it's unclear as to how exactly." She shrugged. "The shape of _that_ ring, ironically enough, was set as a serpent eating its own tail – an Ouroboros, the sign of 'the eternal return'… also known as 'resurrection.'"

She leaned back on her palms and cheekily grinned. "Currently the second ring is with the last surviving member of Raphe Peverell's youngest daughter's lineage. Now, go ahead and ask me who that unfortunate bloke is."

Phil smirked. "Okay, who's Mr. Lucky Inheritance?"

Ginny snickered. "Believe it or not, it's your boss - Draco Malfoy."

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Friday, October 27-28, 2000 (late night-early morning)_**

Casting a Warming Charm about himself, knowing he was in for a long night's watch, Will made his way to the perimeter of the encampment. He relieved Stephen with a slap on the shoulder and a wave goodnight, and then took up his post, scanning the night sky.

Truthfully, he liked being alone like this, in the quiet of the darkness, far away from the others and hidden behind the silent trees. Taking a deep breath, he relished the sharp bite of the crisp, cold air as it cleared his lungs. Glancing up, the nighttime sky was filled with twinkling stars - a beautiful respite that his city-raised self treasured each time they established a camp away from the lights and noise of civilization. Here, in such a place, he could almost believe that there was no war.

After an hour alone with such thoughts, he became distinctly aware that the usual sounds of nocturnal nature were suddenly quite absent. A queer sort of fear gripped him then, and he stretched out his senses, trying to determine the cause without making a sound or moving.

He knew the minute Jeremy's hand touched his arm the identity of the predator that had scared all of the creatures nearby away - and exactly whom his intended prey would be tonight. "Wait," was all he had time to get out before he was on his back, Jeremy's strength pinning him to the cold ground effortlessly.

"Don't. Move."

The command had been given in a hissing, low tone that made things in Will's guts clench with need. Trembling fiercely, clamping down on his mental barriers in self-defense and tamping down on that spark of the 'other,' he pushed ineffectively against his best friend's arms. "Jeremy, knock it off. Let me up!"

To his complete surprise, his best friend dipped his head and nuzzled aside Will's jacket and shirt collar to burrow against his skin, aggressively seductive. "Mate," he whispered in his ear, nipped his lobe with a sharp canine, and Will utterly froze, his fear notching upwards by several levels in seconds. "Lickkkkkkk." He lathed a path with long, sensuous licks along his pulse. "Moreeeee," Jeremy rasped and bit him a little harder, this time breaking skin on his neck. A trickle of warmth trailed down his throat and Jeremy chased it with his tongue, quickly lapping it up. "So sweetttttt," he sighed in pleasure.

Panic set in – along with the familiar pain of throbbing gums and aching shoulder blades. "What the fuck are you doing? _No!_" Will strongly denied, swallowing the pure terror that rose in his chest, even as Jeremy's hand traveled between them to grip him over the swell of his jeans and rub. The touch made him instantly wet; seminal fluid flowed out of the tiny slit at his tip, drenching the fabric of his pants in seconds. He grew so hard that there was flaring pain deep in his gut, leaving him hollow and aching. His balls grew hot, pulsing for release. The aphrodisiac flared to life within his sex-starved body, causing him to sweat, weakening his resolve. "Oh, God," he whimpered, closing his eyes, pushing back, trying to resist. "Please, no. Not like this."

Jeremy stilled quite suddenly.

"Will?" He sounded confused, as if he didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there. As the reality of the situation sunk in, however, in a flash, his best friend was off of him, scuttling backwards on his arse to get away. "Shit, no, _no!_" He kept repeating the last over and over again, and as Will peeked through his lashes and sat up, he watched as Jeremy turned over and hunched in on himself, his arms going about his middle, rocking up and down like a child trying to ease some terrible internal pain.

With a flash of insight, Will understood: Jeremy's Vampire was responsible for this attack. It had almost won control, and would have seriously taken him – in every way. Thankfully, his former lover was now fighting back. The whimpering noises he made as he struggled with himself, however, were so sad, so pathetic that Will couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Jer? Tell me what to do," he bid, resigned, so bloody tired of the hurt that continually threatened to devour him from the inside out. "Do you need blood? Is that it? Do you need to feed again?"

Jeremy was shaking. "Stay away, Will! I'll hurt you!" He took deep, gulping, gasping breaths and called out into the darkness for help. "_Su!_"

A disturbance of the air was all that signaled the half-Vampiress' appearance. She was at Jeremy's side in a heartbeat. "I am here, _neh-sa-rang_. Drink and sate your beast." She offered the man her wrist.

He moved so fast, so ferociously, grabbing the offering without hesitation and breaking through Su's tender, thin wrist with such vicious intent that the sheer level of violence stunned Will. Su stifled a pain-filled hitch in her throat and winced as Jeremy's fangs went deep. The sound of his pleasure-filled moaning as he drank his fill from her veins had Will's dick throbbing, much to his shame.

It took only another minute or two before Su's cooing voice and gentle touch had the Vampire calmed. Apparently, her blood was good enough nutrient, as well, for he pulled back on his own soon after, sated and lethargic. Slumping against the Asian witch, Jeremy's breathing evened out.

"Will," he exhaustedly murmured. "So… sor-ry."

The shadow of Su cradling Jeremy to her breast made things in Will's chest tighten with pain. Hot tears filled his eyes and he squeezed tightly against them.

"He is full for now," Su stated the obvious, wrapping her arms tightly about the unconscious man. It was clear from her tone that she was both weary and annoyed. "This sharing should last a few days. I will take him back to his tent and assure he is safe and well cared for." She stood with easy grace, her vampiric strength lending itself to holding Jeremy's greater weight with little effort.

Looking down upon him, Will could almost feel her harsh frown. "If this happens again, Willem, let him feed from you. He would never kill his mate, so you need not worry for your life. But if he does not drink when he has need, the Vampire will take over. Jeremy will fall into bloodlust." She sighed deeply. "If for no other reason than out of respect for the life you believe your God created when He made this man, do not let Jeremy become a monster - not when you have the power within you to save him."

Having spoken her piece, the woman disappeared in that odd, swirling magical Apparition that she favored, fast-tracking back to the encampment to put Jeremy to bed.

For several seconds, it was as if the world hovered on the edge of her passage, waiting for some mystical signal that it was safe to go on with the living and dying stuff. It took the cry of a nocturnally-roaming fox – that shrill, piercing bark that grated on the nerves – to disturb the silence, giving the all-clear.

Will barely perceived the shift as life returned to normal; he was too much a bundle of fucked-up to really notice. What he did know was that he felt a riot of emotions that he simply couldn't reconcile: guilt, shame, regret, sadness, arousal, love, and self-hate. Everything in him _hurt_.

He hadn't even realized that he'd let go of the tears he'd been forcibly holding back and had begun crying until Zabini unexpectedly appeared at his side. "Bradley, wipe your face and go back to your tent to sleep it off." The man's voice was firm, brooking no argument, but also tinged with compassion. "I've got the rest of this watch. Just don't forget to report to me tomorrow morning at breakfast."

Too ashamed to argue, or even to ask how the man had known to be there at that precise moment, Will merely nodded, collected himself and made his feet, double-timing it back to camp at a jog, wiping the wet from his face with a shaky hand. He ignored his tent-mates' snoring and got undressed. Closing the curtains around his cot, he silenced them with the correct charm and took care of the 'problem' between his legs with a few quick strokes.

Cleaning up with his wand after, he lay on his side, trying not to torture himself with memories – not of earlier that night, but of the night he and Jeremy had crossed the line while lying in the grass together up in Kirkwall. That time felt like forever and an age ago, and yet his body still remembered the ecstasy of Jeremy's kiss and his touch and even his bite… and his heart still felt the pang of betrayal that hadn't dulled with time.

That odd pressure behind his eyelids manifested once more, growing stronger now that his exhaustion was overtaking him again. It was an unnerving sensation, as if someone else were sharing space in his head, despite his mental shielding. Maybe this whole thing with the 'other' was really just imagination brought on by weeks of bone-weary exhaustion. He was incredibly run-down, not getting more than a few hours of sleep a night for the past month because his brain just wouldn't shut off, and from the physical pain in his body – as if he were being stretched out - every time that spark inside flared up.

Yawning, he placed his wand back under his pillow for safekeeping and pulled the cover over his shoulders, closing his eyes and settling in for some much-needed rest.

Behind his lids, piercing golden eyes opened up and stared at him. This time, he _felt_ the 'other' as it came forward from the darkest recesses of his soul, slinging off the cobwebs of hazy slumber, sitting up and taking measure of the mind and body it was sharing. That queer flashcard flipping of Will's memories occurred once more, stopping on tonight's events once again, paying particular attention to Jeremy.

_Wantttttttttt,_ it hissed.

Holy fuck, it wasn't his imagination, was it?

Before he could act in any capacity to shut it down again, the 'other' put him right to sleep with an easy exertion of mental energy. Will fell into the abyss of dreams between one beat and the next; the assault on his mind completely forgotten.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X **

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Friday, October 28, 2000 (an hour after Will leaves the perimeter)_**

"Brought you some hot coffee," Pansy offered her man the mug she'd kept warm all the way across the encampment to this far shore. "Want it?" She held it out, and wisps of steam curled into the cold night air.

Blaise smirked at her. "What'll it cost me?"

Having been told on more than one occasion that she was a remarkably bright witch, Pansy knew her worth – as well as the worth of the drink in her hand. Slytherin to the soul, she played that knowledge to the fullest. Careful not to slosh the contents over the edge, she slowly danced the cup under his nose, only to playfully draw it towards her and reject his intentions when he bent to place those sexy, full lips on the rim of the ceramic mug. "I'm thinking it's time you went down on me."

Zabini continued his stoic watch, keeping an eye on the horizon as he answered her proposal. "I'm thinking I'm enjoying the physical stuff right where we left it last."

She cynically sniffed. "Kissing my mouth and neck and groping my boob is not the same as putting your mouth on it or taking off my jeans. I want more."

His Cheshire Cat grin was brilliantly white in the darkness. "You'll trade me the coffee if I lick your nipples, you're saying?"

Pansy tapped a fingernail against her lips in consideration. "I'm thinking more than just licking. Sucking has to be involved. I want lots of sucking and licking and… Oooh, nipping and biting, too!"

"I don't think so," Zabini drawled in mock annoyance. "You're asking an awful lot just for a cup o' Joe."

Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out her guaranteed negotiation trump and waggled it before his nose, playing up the ham in her performance to get his full, undivided attention. "What have we here? Oh, look - it's one, still-warm choco biscuit!"

She knew she had him then by the way he went utterly still, his shadowed countenance trained on her hand in the barely-there moonlight.

"Morag made a special batch just for us girls two hours ago," she explained, sighing in melodramatic pleasure. "It helps having friends in high places." She nibbled on the edge, taking just a small bite to entice. "Mmmm… all fresh ingredients, not from a box! No one else has one of these in camp." She licked her lips and held up her two items for bargain. "Here's the deal, Zabini: one serious snog-out session in your bunk as soon as you're relieved of duty tonight, complete with full breast attention from your hands and mouth, and in return, hot coffee and a warm choco biscuit now."

He grinned again, and she was sure he thought he'd gotten the better of her by the way he rubbed his hands together. "Sure, dove. You've got yourself a deal." Pleased with the compromise, she gladly handed over the goods to her partner. Blaise gobbled down the biscuit, dunking it into the coffee and then finished every last drop of the warm beverage in record time. "Thanks, Pans-darling, that was great! Too bad I'm stuck here for another two hours, though."

Bang on time, Cris Warrington appeared over Zabini's left shoulder, tromping through the frosted grass and bramble with all of the grace of a herd of hippogriffs. He'd come to fulfill their end of the deal (Pansy had bribed him with her only other choco biscuit, a fresh cup of coffee _and _an agreement to take his duty shift tomorrow late afternoon in exchange for relieving Blaise of his unscheduled watch tonight). "Oh, hi, Cris!" she called out, waving at her co-conspirator. "It's your shift now? Fancy that!"

Cris' lopsided grin was quite charming. "Yeah, I was supposed to relieve Will in another two hours, but seeing as how I'm up, I figured I'd just stroll on into work early."

"How convenient!" Pansy faked surprise. "Well, Blaise, it seems you're off now. So, shall we?" She held her hand out to him.

Knowing he'd been bested, her man took her hand in his, chuckling under his breath.

"See ya later, Cris!" she called over her shoulder, humming in happy congratulations to herself for her ability to be truly cunning when she wanted something badly enough. And, oh, did she _want_ Blaise Zabini - and with a badness that unapologetically skated through the realm of 'wicked' and bordered on the edges of 'sinfully depraved'. The things she wanted him to do to her…

His hand swatting her arse in punishment was well worth it as they entered his tent and he bespelled it for sound, sight and heat, leaving the tip glowing with a dim, bluish-white light just for her. One of Pansy's greatest fears was darkness. She didn't like to be anywhere where the lights were off as it reminded her too often of being blindfolded (or worse) by the vile men who'd come to her room back at her mother's sadistic house of horrors. She'd told Blaise this secret the first time they'd come to his tent together just a few days prior, and ever since he'd been considerate of her need for some form of light.

Besides, it let her see his face and that beautiful body of his as they snogged out!

Shucking her clothing quickly, heading towards his cot, she was down to her knickers by the time she lay back on the large, queen-sized mattress (he'd magicked it larger the last time they'd been fooling around in here). He watched her with dark, lusty eyes as she ran her hands up her tight abdomen and cupped her breasts.

"We made a deal," she reminded him, purposefully lowering her voice into the husky range he'd said he'd liked. "Come give me what you owe me, Blaise."

He practically tore his jacket and jumper off, baring his amazing torso to her. Fuck, he was solid muscle – ripped, not an inch of fat on him, and no hair except under his arms. Every ridge of his six-pack was taut and defined. She'd never seen such a sexy display of man flesh in her life – and she'd seen _a lot_ of naked men in her time at The Madam's House.

He knelt on the edge of the mattress, lit wand in hand, and stopped with one leg on, the other firmly on the floor. "We take it slow, dove. Only this much tonight, right?"

Pansy was confused. She was practically throwing herself at him here, so what was the problem? Not wanting to argue and ruin the moment, though, she easily agreed with a shake of her head. "Okay."

Removing his boots, he crawled up her body to lie alongside her, laying his lit wand at the foot of the cot so they would have some light to see by. When his lips touched down on hers, she tasted the chocolate and the coffee upon his breath and sighed in pleasure. Unable to prevent herself from keeping any kind of a mental barrier between them, despite her disquiet, Pansy melted under her boyfriend's tender ministrations.

He kissed her sweetly at first, cherishing her with sultry, lush dips of his lips and tongue. Too soon, however, their natural desire for each other bloomed, and Blaise was suckling at her throat, his hand trailing up her waist. Wicked fingers danced over her ribs, and traced the underline of her bra. "I love how you taste," he murmured as his tips sleeked over the cup, instinctually finding her nipple underneath and tracing circles over and around it. It reacted perfectly, tightening up, straining for more. "I love how reactive you are to me." His lips twitched and he smiled as they kissed. "I love how sneaky you are." He bit her throat, making her gasp from the electric sensation that traveled from the spot to between her thighs. "My. Slytherin. Queen," he punctuated each word with a nibble and a lick.

Oh, Merlin, he certainly knew all the right things to say! And do. Gods, her knickers were positively damp! "Please," she begged, arching her back and thrusting her chest up, desperate for his touch.

In a sexy, slow move, he trailed his fingers up her chest, tracing her collarbone and shoulder and neck, finding the strap of her bra and gently sliding it down her arm. Oh, yes, finally! Adjusting himself so he was straddling her, he followed the same path on the opposite side. Smoothing those big hands of his over her skin, he trailed a reverse path, until his fingers rested on the cinch in the front of her bra that kept it together. With an easy, practiced flick, the clasp was open and he parted the cups to reveal her breasts to his lusting gaze.

"Pretty," he reassured her in a low-toned, appreciative murmur, pulling the bra out from under her and tossing it off the side. Placing his warm palms against her lower abdomen he copied the outline of her torso with slow precision, his eyes intent, memorizing.

It was then that Pansy intuitively understood his reasoning for taking things so slow between them: because he'd lost a lot in this war, been rushed about, never had time to appreciate or anticipate good things. He was savoring their relationship, wanting to give it – _her_ - proper respect. He wanted one decent, enjoyable thing in his life, and she was it.

Blinking back tears, she lay back and let him touch his fill, relaxing and taking pleasure from his discovery of her body. Later, she would explore his just as thoroughly.

His dark eyes met hers in the dim light and there was a silent understanding between them. He nodded and smiled, and the look dissolved the last of her trepidation about this relationship. He wouldn't hurt her. He _truly _cared for her, unreservedly - which was something she couldn't ever remember saying about any man aside from her father.

Watching him as he resumed his journey of her curves and angles was strangely delightful. He concentrated on assuring every caress was soft, but that each pinch of her nipples contained just the perfect amount of pressure. When he dipped his head to engulf one breast in his wet, nursing mouth, she threw her head back and rode out the bliss. "Yes!" she hissed in pleasure, gripping his massive shoulders tight, digging her nails in.

Her little whimpers became loud moans of need in a very short amount of time as he laved and bit and pulled her tiny, beige beads until they ached and were bruised, just as she'd wanted. "_Blaise!_" It was a plea for more, her mind lost in the haze of sensual need.

"Relax, love," he let up on his attentions and kissed her lips gently instead. "We're enjoying each other nice and slow. No rush."

Oh, yeah, that was right. He wanted to ease into things.

Bloody hell.

Taking a deep breath, she throttled back on her body's roaring demands, wanting to give Blaise what he'd asked for. It wasn't much of an effort to ease into things, right?

Well, except when his denim-clad, thick, huge cock accidentally rubbed up against her and clipped her clit through her knickers, like just then.

Bloody, _bloody _hell!

She sighed, resigned to the fact that she was going to be left unfulfilled again.

"Anticipation, dove," Zabini snickered in her ear, his fingers using the trailing ends of her long hair to tickle her nipple.

Pansy huffed in defeat. "I'm soaking wet and I'm damned uncomfortable." She mockingly batted her eyelashes at him. "Want to take care of that for me?"

Shifting his body off of hers to lie at her right side, he supported himself up on an elbow and let his hand glide over her breast again, just barely touching.

He was driving her spare.

"I swear to Merlin, Zabini, if you don't stop teasing, I'm going to take matters into my own hands right here and now," she threatened, resting a hand over her covered mound.

His slow grin was rather naughty as he let her go and dropped his weight, lying back on the cot, wrapping one arm about her waist and holding her close. "Can't have that. Not yet, anyway." He kissed her cheek, reached down and pulled the blankets up over them both. "Sleep, dove. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. Animagi training again. Your turn this time."

Grumbling under her breath about how cruel he was to leave her hanging (the bastard chuckled in reply against her hairline) she snuggled into his warm, hard body and shut her eyes, seeking the refuge of sleep.

The light of Blaise's still-illumed wand was a comforting glow behind her eyelids, but Pansy knew from observation that her man disliked sleeping with any sort of light on; the concession to keep his wand burning was for her sake. Maybe it was time for her to pull on her 'big girl pants' and step outside of her comfort zone, too?

Swallowing back her fears, she disentangled her arm from the blankets and held it up in the air. "_Accio_ Blaise's wand," she murmured and put a small bit of magic behind the easily-accomplished, wandless spell. The slap of wood as it flew into her palm was loud in the quiet tent. With a quick dip of the tip, she extinguished the spell. "_Nox._"

That done, she firmly wrapped her fingers about the handle of the magical rod and slept with it between them - just in case she got scared again. Zabini kissed her forehead and snuggled her closer, holding onto her tight. "That's my girl," he whispered.

She fell asleep only minutes later and with relative ease to the steady, lulling sound of his heartbeat.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**Saturday, October 28, 2000 (mid-morning, after breakfast)**

Fay stood at the edge of the small lake that marked the boundary of the encampment and looked out over the undisturbed surface. As each day grew progressively colder, the ice under the light sprinkling of snowfall they'd received last night would soon be solid enough for them to walk upon. Thank goodness, as witches and wizards, they didn't really need access to the water underneath, as an _Aguamenti_ charm and _Scourgify _did quite well to satisfy their needs for fresh drinking and cooking water, for bathing, and for sanitation issues.

Closing her eyes, she stretched her magical aura outwards in every direction, using her abilities to sense the world about her. Her range was severely limited – only a few dozen yards, but every day, she worked on expanding that circumference a little more. Boot and Madley were to the west, standing their watch; Parkes and Greengrass to the east on the opposite shore, doing likewise. She stood upon the southern shore, and was unable to sense the northern end, across the lake. Where was her lover? Was he situated beyond her ken, then?

Greengrass… Tori. She was out there, somewhere, alone and in the hands of the enemy.

Daphne would never say it aloud, but she was panicked with the need to find her little sister. She'd approached Malfoy and Zabini soon after they'd reached this new location to camp, begging them to come up with a plan to retrieve Astoria, but like Granger, Pucey, Wood and Jones, there hadn't been time to retrieve anything personal belonging to the young woman before they'd had to escape Kirkwall, and so no tracking spells could be used to find her. The assumption was she, along with the others, had all been taken to The Fortress, and _no one_ was volunteering to storm that death-trap in an effort to get to any of the prisoners without a good enough plan. Malfoy had promised her that he'd look for the girl carrying his child, and Fay knew that he _had_ been trying to fulfill that promise – at the same time as frantically searching for the Captain _and_ trying to keep the camp together and functioning with the senior staff _and_ find out where Mort's plans with subjugating the islands were going. It was a lot of stress for those broad shoulders to take on, and Fay felt sorry for him for the burden, unable to do anything to alleviate it.

Snape had been able to offer Daphne some solace, however, in confirming that he'd sent Viktor Krum and his buddy, Sorin, into the dark castle undercover with orders to infiltrate and break-out all of the captives. For now, it was the best anyone could offer her friend.

Resigned, Daphne had just nodded and walked away. She'd been relatively quiet ever since, spending most of her days – and nights – with Theodore Nott. Apparently, he was quite the romantic - which was surprising, given who his father was (Charlie had shared _that_ little secret with her, and now her suspicions about his aura from so long ago made sense).

Even after all these weeks, the group was still attempting to recover from their terrifying flight from the Orkney Isles, struggling to cope with the few, but pointed losses they'd sustained there and to carve out a place for temporary rest for themselves in their new encampment. There was no permanence in the field of battle, though, and always there existed the undercurrent of fear that they could be found and attacked again at any moment, forced to abandon this place, too, no matter how they'd come to enjoy its quiet solitude.

They hadn't launched any offensives against the enemy since coming here, either – which Fay thought uncharacteristic. It was as if with Granger's loss, the heart had gone out of this little rebellion of theirs, and now it was all about the surviving and making-do. Fay knew that without an objective or a victory to spur them on, soon their little family would fall into disillusionment and despair, and lose its way. It would disband a bit at a time, until only a few – the truly dedicated - remained to fight. And honestly, thinking about the group dynamics, she didn't feel there were enough of them left at this point who would claim that type of loyalty to the cause. Too many were preoccupied now with other concerns.

She rubbed her belly, stretching out her aura to feel her child. Her baby, Hope, was doing well, growing stronger every day.

Warm arms smoothed about her midsection and a hard body abutted her backside, interrupting her concentration. "Good morning, love," Charlie kissed her cheek. "Sleep well?"

He'd taken a double watch last night so Daphne could have some solid alone time with Nott. Their bed had been cold as a result, and she hadn't slept well, concerned for him. She lied anyway, not wanting to worry her lover. "Fine. When did you finish your shift? I sense Daph out there, but didn't sense you coming back in."

"About an hour ago," he explained. "I had a senior staff meeting in Malfoy's tent right after. Still no sign of Granger or the others, although our leader and Nott both confessed that they'd been going out in animal forms and scented her near Dumfries a few days back. They lost the trail just outside of Lochanhead. He thinks she Apparated away from there to somewhere else. That means she's not in The Fortress, as we'd assumed." He paused, and Fay could feel a slight current of fear slither over his aura.

"But…?" she prompted him, knowing there was more to the story that he was clearly reluctant to tell.

Taking a deep breath, her man huddled closer to her, cradling her possessively. "They smelled someone else there as well – a dark, masculine scent. Neither men knew who it was, but they suspect a Death Eater's got her. I could read between the lines, though. They're worried it's McLaggen. You know he's obsessed with Hermione, and if she's up and walking about, _he _could be the reason why she hasn't come back to us yet."

"Oh, Merlin," she sighed in worry. She'd heard all about what Cormac McLaggen had done to her – twice – through the grapevine. "At least it's not Mort, though," she offered what little relief she could. "If she was in his hands…" She shuddered and closed her eyes in revulsion at the thought. "At least she has a chance with just a Death Eater."

"A Tracker, remember?" Charlie corrected her. "Not a regular Death Eater."

"But still," she tried for some optimism. "She's tough. Magic or not, if anyone can get out of a life-or-death scrape, it's the Captain. Share that faith with me, please. We have to trust that she'll escape and make it back to us soon, or that Malfoy will find her and rescue her. Otherwise…"

Otherwise, all would be lost, and her little Hope would be born in a world without such noble, uplifting beliefs.

Charlie nodded. "As you wish, love."

His stomach's growling protest was loud between them, and Fay couldn't help but laugh. "Let's get you fed, mister, and then it's off to bed with you." Disentangling herself from his embrace, she held his hand back into the tree line, heading for the main pavilion, hoping to convince Morag to scrape up some leftovers for her wizard.

"Will you join me?" he playfully grinned, cupping a hand on the bottom of one arse cheek and caressing lightly. His aura flared over hers, stimulating her body's desire in a flash.

She tsked and shook her head, laughing again. "You're insatiable, Mr. Weasley."

Crimson eyebrows waggled with mischief. "So, I can take that as a 'yes,' yeah?"

Rolling her eyes, Fay tugged him after her into the dining and meeting tent, and hurried him through his breakfast, eager for _their_ alone time. It was, after all, the little moments of fun that could be eked out that made this war at all bearable.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**A dual carriageway in the U.K. is what the Americans call a 'divided freeway' (with grass in the middle).**

**To pinch = British slang for "to borrow with the intent of not returning" (technically, that's stealing, but the difference is that when you pinch, you really don't INTEND on stealing the item – you have every intention of paying for it eventually or returning it, but you never seem to get around to it; it's one of those funny older words from my generation that doesn't seem to be in much use anymore, but I like it, so I'm using it… so there!).**

**In JKR's official family tree lineages, she states that one of Cadmus Peverell's family intermarried with Salazar Slytherin's, which eventually lead to the intermarriage with the Gaunts (Voldemort's mother's family). In such a case, that means Cadmus had at least one child, if not more, before he kicked off. For the sake of this fic, I have capitalized on that idea.**

**If one looks at the canon-approved Gaunt ring containing the Resurrection Stone, clearly this is either a black-grey sapphire or a smoky quartz. From that, I was able to extrapolate the idea of using a sapphire for the Resurrection Stone's make-up. The reason I chose sapphire over quartz has to do with a sapphire's unique physical properties, and its spiritual meaning in culture (see directly below for that explanation).**

**Sapphires = Gemstones of the Corundum family. They come in a rainbow of colors, except the spectrum of red (because red and pink corundum are instead called 'rubies'). Shades of blue tend to be the most abundant and typify this gem's standard. Sapphires can be found in euhedral crystalline form, as well as prismatic crystalline form (shaped like slender prisms). Their gem hardness (on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the hardest substance – a diamond), a sapphire ranks in at a hardness of 9 – meaning it takes a lot of pressure and abuse to fracture it. It is nonmagnetic and not radioactive, and its electron density and photoelectric properties make it an excellent conductor of energy (ultraviolet rays, especially). Sapphire in historical religious/spiritual use is associated with the month of September (Hermione's birth month), and in folklore, ancient priests believed that sapphires would help them predict the future and communicate with the dead (hence the reason they were used for prayer beads in very early western religion dogma). Sapphires are also associated with the ideas of peace and happiness in new age science, and are believed to help with inter-personal communication, to grant the wearer insight, as well as increase the level of their intuitiveness and inspiration. **

**On October 27, 2000, the sun set at 5:58pm in the area of Ireland indicated in the fic, and it was a New Moon with only less than 1% of the moon's face providing light (meaning it was practically pitch black outside). On October 28, 2000, the sun rose in this part of Ireland at 8:19am (got all that online – ah, the power of the internet!). **

**Neh-sa-rang = Korean for "my love."**


	24. Ch 23: No Help For It

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: NO HELP FOR IT**

**_Near the town of Trim, Ireland_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (morning)_**

The night before, Hermione and Cormac had spent five hours perfecting the change into wolf. Therianthropy – the specific branch of Transfiguration that dealt with the metamorphosis of a human into an animal form - was a rather difficult spell to master, requiring the caster to envision every part of the chosen form (in this case, a wolf) in exacting detail. From the tip of the nose to the length of the tail, it had to be perfect. Once the visual was locked in, the wizard or witch then had to painfully shove their human form inside that imagined frame. It was quite a bit different magic from the natural magic of Animagi, as first, an Animagus' animal shape was predetermined (a phenomenon no one had yet been able to explain correctly, although she recalled the standard theory from her Advanced Transfiguration classes back in school, that it was similar to how one's magic chose their Patronus form – which was based upon their core personality characteristics). Second, the animal shape for an Animagus was permanent (unlike a Patronus, which _could_ change throughout one's life). And third, Animagus had a smooth knack for the 'shoving' part of the spell, so that when they cast, they didn't require a wand and their change was a distinctly more fluid transformation. The magic of Therianthropy wasn't easy to hold onto once in animal form, either, which was why it took Hermione so long to train Astoria, whose knack for this type of magic had been sub-par at best. One had to maintain a solid mental hold on the spell to keep the animal shape.

Even with Cormac's advanced abilities, he'd still had problems getting the back legs and hips of the wolf form right, and it took quite a bit to get him to keep the shape for longer than five minute stretches. However, after practicing relentlessly for four hours, the concept finally just 'clicked' for him. He'd figured out how to manipulate the magic quite well after that, and had no problems holding the shape for the hour following his enlightenment.

After a quick arranging of their Bags of Holding (to hang about their necks as they ran so they could get their wands out and Transfigure themselves back when they tired), they'd decided to set off at a fast, but careful pace, and had covered some good ground in four hours, making it as far as the M3 motorway before she'd had to call for a halt so they could rest, take sustenance and change back to their regular skins to get some sleep. They'd found an abandoned Muggle house for shelter. He'd checked it for possible squatters while she'd rid the kitchen of rotting food and the stench of it, and together, they'd bespelled the pretty cottage-like structure for protection and privacy.

Seated on the comfy sofa in the abandoned living room, Hermione snacked on a trail bar and cracked open another water bottle. Putting some distance between she and McLaggen (who was on the other side of the room, perusing the contents of a bookshelf which had been neglected in the hurried escape of its owners) would definitely be a really good idea, she thought. They were definitely going to be sleeping in different rooms tonight – and she was locking her door.

That compelling pull to the pack that Astoria had spoken about - _now_ she understood. The silent 'language' of wolves, which included all five senses, was incredibly beautiful and entirely too alluring. About twenty minutes prior to her calling a halt on their run, she'd started to notice wolf-Cormac's alpha-ness – the lovely lay of his grayish-golden fur, his musky, aroused smell, how he held himself tall, acted extremely protective and directed them with assured dominance - and the female wolf within had found his scent rather enticing in a 'let's mate' sort of way. That's when she knew it was time to pull back.

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye now, she noticed him holding a book open, but not really paying attention; his eyes were focused on the wall, lost in thought. She suspected he'd perceived her wolfish interest while they'd held their animal forms, and was pondering the problem, too.

If it wasn't for the fact that she was so desperate to get back to Draco, she'd put a nix on the entire transfiguration idea right now. But to be honest, running as a _Canis lupus_ had its definite advantages over walking in human form; the animal's speed and stamina were amazing, and the ability to scent for danger long before it showed up visually had twice allowed them to covertly maneuver around bands of Muggles camped out in their path. Plus, no one would really look twice at them if they were seen in the distance, thinking them rabid dogs, as previously pointed out when they'd discussed the pros versus the cons of this idea. If she could just ignore the bestial instincts for another day or two she'd be back where she belonged.

_Draco…_

She missed him with a fierceness that bordered on obsession. Was this how it felt to be in love? She'd thought as a naïve schoolgirl that such a feeling would manifest as a gentle longing when one was away from their greatest desire. The thought made her internally snort now. That was definitely _not_ the case between her and Malfoy. Then again, everything about them had always been rather temperamental and usually explosive; they'd never once engaged in the tender or polite discourse often depicted in Hermione's favorite Jane Austen novels. No, her love was more the 'real' kind - bred within the fires of war, nurtured by a shared, grudging respect, not in some genteel sitting room over tea and a poetry recital. Hers was the forever kind of love, she was quite sure, for neither she nor Draco were wont to give up their hearts unless they knew for certain that it was right. They were two of a kind in that respect.

Finishing her snack with a weary sigh, she collected her empty bottle to keep for refill (if they could find a clean water source, that was – the water was shut off to this house, she'd discovered while in the kitchen earlier). "Did you get enough to eat?" she asked her silent partner, speaking the first actual words between them for the last several hours. "I've got some different flavor pot noodles and Walkers crisps in my bag, if you're still hungry."

There was a good ten seconds of silence there before Cormac actually answered.

"You feel it, too, don't you?"

Hermione stood up, realizing that this conversation was going to go where she wasn't comfortable and thinking to find a bedroom to separate them for the night instead of trying to make small talk. "It's normal. Animal transfiguration does that to the human brain. Ignore it."

More awkward silence as she crossed to the hall that led towards the bedrooms.

"Why should I?"

She stopped on a knut at the room's exit and bit back the vicious rejoinder that came unbidden to her lips. Her temper was frayed along the edges because of the strain between them, and the bad mood wasn't entirely his fault. Bloody animal hormones! Snapping at him in blame wouldn't be the right thing to do, and it might even incite a verbal brawl between them, so instead, she curbed her temper and spoke with calm self-possession, trying to refortify her mental defenses at the same time. "You know why."

The book he'd been holding was closed rather severely with a 'whoomp' and he was suddenly, unexpectedly at her right elbow and slightly behind, having moved rather quickly to cover the space between them. "You wanted me."

Resolutely, she shook her head, attempting to appear in firm command of the situation. "My wolf saw an available alpha male and answered to instinct. That's all there was to it."

He stepped closer and hot air brushed her cheek as he bent his head to hers. "You've never mated Malfoy or any other. I could smell that much on you. Only _my_ scent resides in you, even after all this time."

All of her tightly-ruled discipline flew out the window as his hand gently reached for hers and he brushed his fingertips over her wrist. A shiver ran up her spine as the awakened wolf within her responded to his nearness. Her rational, human mind screamed at her to take several steps away, but she was finding it hard to actually obey. In fact, she felt a tempting desire to rub up against him and get his scent all over her.

Bloody hell, Astoria had been absolutely right. Clenching her jaw, she reminded herself that she was a human being – _not _an animal – and forced a step forward, but his arm suddenly blocked her path as he shifted position, caging her in the middle of the arched doorway, his bigger body crowding in so they were touching.

"Why have you never given yourself to another man, Hermione?" he murmured with sultry insistence. "Why am I the only one to have touched you?"

Infuriated that he would dare to pull this kind of shite on her after everything he'd done and they'd gone through, she shoved his arm away, took two steps into the hall, and then rounded on him. All of the feelings she'd bottled away to avoid this confrontation with him exploded to the surface. "Because _you _fucked me up in the head so badly after raping me – _twice_ - that it's taken me a long time to stop being afraid!"

Rushing down the hall, she randomly picked any room and tried to blink back tears as she entered what appeared to be a female tween's room and slammed the door behind, spelling it with strong enchantments to prevent any unwanted entry. Backing away, she stared at it, wand held out in her trembling hand. Backing up a step at a time, she crawled onto the abandoned bed with the pink coverlet that was the centerpiece for the small room and hunched back against the wooden rail headboard. Ignoring her exhaustion for a good hour, she intently focused on the door like a five-year old fearing the monster on the other side.

The truth was, she was actually terrified that the former version of Cormac had maybe reemerged as a result of the transfiguration into animal. Would that be possible? She'd just begun to show him a little trust, and had started to think of him as possibly redeemable, but now this… Would he attempt to smash through her spells on the door and barge in? Or worse, would he change to wolf form and simply lure her out with the pull of pack?

_Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco… _She repeated his name like a prayer, hoping to regain her center of strength and calm. She stroked Sning, turning him over and over and over on her finger, even as her wand remained trained on the door, braced up on one knee as it was._ Help me get home soon, please._

A good hour or so ticked by, and Cormac did not make any attempt whatsoever to agitate the situation. The house was oddly silent, in fact. Perhaps he'd left to go on his own, recognizing the danger between them? Or maybe he'd collapsed into the sofa in the living area and was sleeping it off? Exhausted, she felt eased enough to lay her head down and close her eyes, and even then she clung to visions of Malfoy to chase her into sleep. Before she gave herself over to unconsciousness, though, Hermione made the conscious decision that she would walk the rest of the way towards Wicklow in human form, whether Cormac was with her or not. No more animal transfiguration for her - ever.

On her finger, Sning squeezed once.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (late morning)_**

Penelope came awake as a bout of nausea rolled through her. Jumping out of her cot, she immediately fell to her knees and vomited. Neville was at her side a moment later holding her hair away, kneeling with his wand in hand and banishing the mess with a quick wave.

As she sat back on her haunches, wiping with shaky fingers at her lips, he conjured a glass and filled it with water with an easy spell, handing it to her. She drank it down, feeling the acid bite into her throat, the cooling fluid washing away the nasty taste in her mouth. Neither said a word, as she handed him back the glass. In her head, she started to count back days, a terrifying suspicion in her mind.

Grabbing his wand, she waved it over her belly and cast the spell that would confirm or deny her daunting supposition. Her abdomen glowed red. "Oh, no," she moaned, shutting her eyes and began crying. "No, please."

Neville was silent for so long beside her that she wasn't sure what he was thinking, but her mind was a riotous mess of fear.

"I c-can't carry to term," she murmured in horror, her breath hitching as panic rose in her chest. "It'll d-die."

His steadying, strong arms came about her. "Shhh, love. I'm here. We can get through this together."

Penelope shook her head. "W-we need a medi-witch. I'll have to take a potion to-" She couldn't finish the sentence, the word 'abort' repeating in her brain over and over like a sickening taunt. "I'll miscarry otherwise, and it could k-kill me." Her sobbing grew proportionally. "Your b-baby. Oh, Nev… _our_ baby!"

He was her rock in those moments, holding her tight, letting the bitter poisons of her disappointment and fear find vent on his shoulder. Nearly an hour later, she finally calmed, lying limply within his embrace, her tears and panic having run its course.

"I've been giving this matter thought for a while now," he admitted to her. "What we would do if you got pregnant. Will you hear me out?"

Slowly, she nodded.

Tenderly brushing hair away from her temple, he tenderly placed a kiss her there. "A surrogate might work. If we could find a witch who wants to carry this baby to the end and deliver it for us, it might be possible to have a child that's all our own after all."

A surrogate? But that was…

Possible.

No, she didn't want to hook her wishes on dreams. There were simply too many issues in the way of such a thing ever happening. "Even if we _could_ convince someone to accept the responsibility, what could we offer the witch in return?" she dourly resented. "We have nothing to trade for such a sacrifice." Shaking her head in denial, her heart felt the heavy burden of regret. "No, I don't want t-to have hope for t-this, when I know how it e-ends."

Neville was quite for a moment longer. "Just, give me some time to think about it, alright? Don't do anything hasty yet. Let's consider all options before giving up." He pulled back a bit and looked her in the face. "It was a miracle you got pregnant at all, Penny - a one in a thousand chance. Let's not discount that gift." He tilted her chin to force her to meet his eyes. "This could be our hope, yours and mine." His smile grew wider. "And in three and a half more days, you'll finally be my wife, you know." He tucked her hair back behind an ear and gently rubbed the tear streaks away. "I've been working on the _Orchidius_ spell and can conjure you five different types of roses now."

With a shaky hand, Penelope played with the rounded collar of his cotton thermal shirt, attempting to distract the sinking dread in the pit of her belly, knowing it would only lead to another round of tears. She focused on his proud achievement instead. "What colors?" she sniffed to clear her stuffy nose.

His hands rubbed up and down her arms and his smile came a bit easier. "Red, white, light purple, a multi-colored one that has yellows blending into an orange shade that matches your hair, and an aqua-green that looks just like your eyes."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "That last one can't be natural."

He shrugged and suggestively grinned. "With magic, _all_ things are possible."

Oh, goddess, he was right, wasn't he? They weren't Muggles and constrained to the realm of impracticality. They had magic to help them overcome their burdens! If they could make themselves invisible and turn themselves into other people simply by sipping a potion and move objects around without ever having to lift a finger, then maybe they could figure out a way to surrogate a baby, too.

It seemed that giving up the dream of motherhood wasn't quite as finalized as she'd once believed it to be.

Throwing her arms about her fiancé and hugging tightly to him, Penny found a tiny ray of hope for their situation in his words. Nev was right – there just _might_ be a way for them to keep this baby. She just had to believe – and try to talk to other witches in camp who might know a thing or two about healing and babies.

Dunbar might be a good place to start.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (late morning to afternoon)_**

Blaise gathered his witch up in his arms, hoping to provide a little extra warmth in the chilly air as they waited for Stretton to show up for their Animagi training. Pansy relaxed back into him, practically purring in happiness at the public display of affection. His woman ate this shite up; exhibitionism didn't frighten her in the least. But then, back in school, he remembered her fondness for ostentatious airs, especially as they pertained to possessively prancing about on Drake's arm in front of every girl in the school (an act which, he could admit in retrospect, had made him jealous and almost always resulted in him throwing a jabbing insult her way… man, he'd been a wanker then, hadn't he?).

"Relax," he coached, feeling Pans stiffen as soon as Jeremy appeared on the edge of the practice zone. "It's just to test you for the ability. You're not receiving an N.E.W.T. on the subject."

"I know, I _know_," she huffed with a sigh. "I've never been able to keep cool during exams, though, no matter how minor."

She'd earlier copped to being nervous about today's trial and practice session. "What if I'm bollocks at it?" she'd asked him as they'd gotten dressed and headed out of the tent for breakfast. He'd laughed and reassured her that being a girl, that wouldn't be possible. She'd swatted him, and accused him of never being serious about her feelings, and he'd then spent the next twenty minutes up against a tree showing her just _how_ serious he was by claiming her mouth with hot, very possessive kisses and some concentrated fondling of her arse through her Muggle jeans.

Their little make-out session had helped to calm her down then. Now, though, the anxiety was back; she was fretfully twirling her wand between her fingers with a nimbleness he hadn't realized she'd had. "It'll suck if I can't do it. You can do it. I should be able to, too."

He chuckled. "Doesn't work that way, dove. It's heredity that counts here, not skill."

"We ready?" Stretton asked, his eyes tracking everything in the area with a single sweep. Blaise thought he knew who the half-Vampire was looking for – Bradley – but today wasn't Will's rescheduled testing date, and he knew Jeremy realized it by the disappointed crease in his brow and a tightening of his lips.

Blaise nodded. "Let's get this show on the road."

Four hours later, the results were in: Flora Carrow, Terry Boot, and Vicky Frobisher were not Animagi, but the other half of the group were. Katie Bell could change into a grey and white striped tabby cat, Mandy Brocklehurst took on the shape of a Springer spaniel, and Pansy's animal was, to his delighted surprise, a red fox.

Looking rather wan, Stretton bowed out once everyone had gotten the hang of the spell, and took off. Blaise almost went after him when fox-Pansy nipped his trouser leg and growled at him. He grinned at her and bent down to her eye level. "Never did tell you my form, did I?" he lopsidedly grinned at her and stroked her sharply pointed ears. "You're gonna love this. Ready?"

He cast the spell and merged with the animal within. Pansy hopped up and down, yipping in excitement. She threw herself against him and they rubbed snouts, his black and silver coloring a perfect contrast to her pumpkin-colored fur.

The two foxes joyously ran to the edge of the camp together, playfully nipping at hindquarters and shoulders to egg each other on. They kept running out across the open valley beyond the lake, where they finally collapsed. They changed back, and lay laughing against each other.

"I think," Pans panted with a big goofy smile and a chuckle, "that the Cosmos has spoken." Her hand reached for his and they entwined their fingers, turning their heads to stare into each other's eyes. "We were meant to be. I'm totally convinced."

Her words shot straight into his heart, making his chest clench and his throat close with emotion. Rolling over her, he supported his weight on his elbows and gazed down into her lovely face. Pushing black wisps of hair off her cheek, he feathered her flushed, pinked skin with a gentle touch. "I love you, you know."

Coffee-black orbs widened and blinked twice. "You sure?"

Blaise leaned his head down and captured her lips in a soft, sweet kiss that lasted only a moment, but that melted his soul. "Now I am."

Her arms came about his neck and her expression was earnest, vulnerable. "That's good because I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you back."

He couldn't help the smart-arsed response that burst from his lips. "'Pretty sure'? Not one-hundred percent, though?"

His girlfriend gave him a wicked smile filled with naughty promise. "I could be if I had a better idea of the breadth of your bedroom skills, Mr. Zabini. Shag me rotten and I'll render final judgment on the issue."

He snickered as he bent for another kiss. "Manipulative wench."

"Silver and green to the core," she repeated their House mantra. "Slytherin to the end."

Yes, this witch was _definitely_ his long-awaited soul mate.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (late afternoon)_**

The Animagi lessons had done him in. Jeremy fought to contain the shaking in his hands as he hurried across the camp, seeking escape. His Vampire buddy in his head was _hungry_. Su's donated blood the night before had been extremely nourishing, but the Vampire had quickly burned through it today.

He could deny it no longer: his 'satanic disease' was growing stronger, acting strangely. Something was setting it off, but for the life of him, Jeremy couldn't fathom what that might be. The only possible culprit might possibly be the slight change in Will's scent lately. What was causing _that _was anyone's guess, though.

Whatever had triggered his _Vampirius_ this time, it was driving him now towards the need for more sustenance. A part of him thought he should go back to Su and take from her again, but he hesitated to do so for two very good reasons: one, she was probably weakened from his recent feeding from her and she needed to replenish herself before he could take again, and two, feeding from her only strengthened her feelings for him, and he didn't want to lead her on. In a way, he loved Su, but Willem was his true mate and the captor of his heart. He had been since the moment he'd laid eyes upon him all those years ago.

He'd have to go back to Blessington tonight to feed from a Muggle, since he didn't want to take from anyone else in camp. It was either that or someone was going to be seriously hurt. The thought sickened him, but there was no other way.

Crossing the edge of the camp, he headed northwest across the forest as fast as he was able to sprint. About half a kilometer out, a voice called to him and brought him up short. From behind a nearby tree, just a few steps ahead of where he was, Su abruptly materialized in a whirl of color. "Stop, Jeremy. I know where you are going and what you intend to do. You do not need to go to the human town tonight."

"I need to feed," he explained, fighting _Vampirius'_ demand that he take any creature – even the half-Vampiress – as it was hungry and wanted to eat _now_.

In a submissive gesture, she knelt before him and swung her long, raven hair over one shoulder, baring her neck. "Use me instead. I offer myself to you."

Jeremy's cock jumped hard in his jeans, and his monster inside started howling in triumph inside his skull. His breathing kicked up, coming out as harsh panting. He fought it with everything he had, shook his head. "No, no. This isn't right. You're not mine."

Su glanced up at him through long, dark, exotic eyelashes. "I could be."

Jeremy physically jerked back, squeezed his eyes shut as the Vampire within wrestled to take control of his body. "Stop, Su. We've had this conversation already. I won't betray Will."

"And yet you linger here, arguing the point, fighting yourself all the while," she pointed out bluntly, pulling no punches. "I admire your loyalty to your mate, Jeremy, but he has made his feelings clear to you. Release him from the bonds to you by letting me bind you to me instead. It will ease both your suffering, and give your Vampire what it needs, for I will never deny you."

Reaching out blindly, Jeremy laid his palm against a nearby tree, pressing his forehead in against his inner arm and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Su, walk away. I can't be responsible for what happens if you don't walk away right now. I'm too close to losing all control."

"I offer you my blood as nourishment," she stated, undaunted. "I offer you my body to sate yourself within. I will give you rest, Jeremy. Your monster will be silent for a long while after you fully take me. We both know this."

Jeremy shook his head, fighting off the quivering in his thighs and calves. "Stop! Please, don't! I can't-"

The mouth-watering coppery acid scent of freshly drawn blood permeated the air. Su had opened the vein in her wrist for him. Everything within Jeremy suddenly stilled in terror, and then the starved Vampire roared to the surface, took him over completely, shoving his will to the side. His canines punched through his gums, and in a flash, he was looming over her, grabbing her up and roughly hauling her against a tree.

_Snifffffffffffffffffffffff_, the Vampire within paused only momentarily, and Jeremy's nose was pressed into Su's throat, even as he raised her sliced wrist. _Lickkkkkkk_.

Bringing her incised flesh to his mouth, he lapped at the blood eagerly, his eyes locked on Su's dark brown orbs the whole time. There was no need to enthrall her, for she was already enchanted by him. The taste of her rich, salty blood filled him with longing, made his cock harder than steel. He moaned in ecstasy, pressing his mouth over the wound and sucking hard. This nutrient was so fulfilling…

"Jeremy?"

Jeremy's heart stopped, skipped several beats and then frantically rushed to catch up, causing his chest to ache, his breath to hitch. The Vampire within stilled its fighting, sensing its true mate nearby, recognizing it as the more preferred snack. A sob tore from Jeremy's throat and stinging tears wavered before his eyes, even as he pulled his mouth with serious reluctance from Su's wrist to meet his mate's gaze.

Willem's blue-as-the-sky eyes were wide, filled with horror and the accusatory glare of betrayal. "I followed… What the fuck are you doing to her? Get off!"

"If you do not plan to offer him a vein, then do not come any nearer, Will. He needs to feed," Su explained in warning, touching Jeremy's cheek gently with her free hand. Her fingers were ice cold against his overheated skin. "His Vampire is taking control. If he doesn't feed now, he will accidentally kill someone."

Jeremy only had eyes for his mate, despite Su's gentle, calming caresses. Will was righteously furious, but there was also pain in his gaze. Jeremy's chest tightened in response; he was causing his mate to hurt. But how could that be? Will hated him.

Inside his body, _Vampirius_ uncharacteristically paused, waited. Something about Will stopped it from acting on instinct and closing the distance between them. It seemed almost submissive in its posturing in his head, as if waiting for Will to make a move. Shaking his head, blinking his eyes, Jeremy tried to focus. Something wasn't right. Never in all the years that he'd lived with the monster that shared his body had he ever known it to behave as it had recently. It seemed more aware lately, more in tune to needs aside from basic necessities. It was as if it were evolving beyond an animal. Had his bonding to Will done this?

"Why?" he hissed at the thing in his head. "What are you waiting for?"

"What?" Will blinked, clearly confused.

Jeremy shook his head at his mate's question. "Not you - _it_." He shuddered, trying to break through the impenetrable mental wall his Vampire self had suddenly erected that was shielding him from its thoughts. How in the fuck had it learned that trick? "What are you doing?"

"He is talking to his Vampire," Su gasped in understanding.

The body against him trembled, and the scent of rising terror rushed through Jeremy's predatory senses. His hunger returned, and in a heartbeat, he slammed Su against the tree harder, pressing his whole frame against her, snarling in her face. His gums grew hot, his bottom lip gushed blood where he'd bitten himself again, his fangs sharper than razors.

"Jer, don't!" Will cried out, taking a step closer, then another. "Don't hurt her. Let her go, please."

Jeremy could feel the heat of his mate approach, felt the creature within him tense, prepare itself for its real goal. _Closerrrrrrrr_, it purred whispered through his mind, silently urging Will on. _Comeeeeeeee._

Shite, it had been setting a trap for Will, luring him closer, knowing his mate would be unable to resist trying to save a female in distress! When had the fucking thing gotten so manipulative? "Stop!" Jeremy shouted, struggling, fighting against the thing inside him, which howled in rage at being thwarted. "No closer. She's a decoy. He's trying to bait you… Fuck!" He gritted, shutting his eyes and panting with the effort of staving off the beast's drive to throw itself across the distance. Pain exploded behind his eyes, bringing him to his knees as he fought to maintain his control. The Vampire was punishing him for his interference.

_Mineeeeeeeeeeeeee_, it howled in fury. _Wanttttttttttttttttttt!_

"Yeah?" Jeremy laughed maniacally and spit with venomous hatred at the creature sharing his life, the stabbing spikes of a massive migraine puncturing through his every nerve. Spots floated before his eyes and darkness fuzzed the sides of his vision, creeping towards the center. "Well, he doesn't want _you_, you fucker!"

With that, he passed out.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (night)_**

Unable to find rest tonight, Draco had taken Cornfoot's three-hour patrol on the eastern edge of the lake, letting the guy find his entertainment elsewhere for the night. He kept his eyes scanning the horizon and then above the tree line, ever watchful of the inky trails that indicated Death Eater movement overhead. None of them had seen any since their arrival here weeks ago, but with the destruction he'd seen in England as he'd jumped about looking for Hermione, he knew it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord brought his crusade to this part of Ireland. He was on a mission to subjugate every major city, and thus far, it seemed he'd been successful - at least on the big island.

A sharp pang pressed behind his left eye – the damaged one. He squeezed it shut for a bit and it relaxed when he reopened the lid, the ache dissolving. The vision in it was getting worse, and he feared that all of the Transfiguration between human and animal form was the cause. Shifting one's shape wasn't good for delicate injuries, he was beginning to understand, and the eyeball was one of the more sensitive areas of the human body.

He rubbed the side of his head near the bad eye to try to ease the remaining tension and simultaneously looked up towards the glimmering stars for guidance, as his mother had always done when he'd been a child. There was no prophetic message contained in the inky indigo-black canvas, however, to offer him any comfort.

Fuck it, he'd always been lousy in Divination anyway.

_Granger, where are you? _he wondered for the millionth time, a clawing desperation in his heart overtaking him again as he looked over towards the tiny sliver of the moon. It had been this way since very early this morning, as if he _had _to get to her, to protect her. _I'm lost without you, Hermione. Help me find you._

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the familiar presence of a friend approaching from behind, and Draco knew who it was by the sound of the gait as it approached through the grass. "Thought to find you out here somewhere," Theo came alongside him on his 'good' side – the right side of his body. "You're not surprised to see _me_, though, I notice."

Draco snorted. "You make enough noise to wake the dead, Big Feet," he ribbed with a smirk. His old friend was one of the few he felt comfortable enough with to let a portion of his guard down. There had been a little strain between them just before the shite hit the fan in Kirkwall (Theo threatening to rip through Hermione's mind had set a monstrous anger off in him), but the night they'd gone together to Dumfries to find Granger, they'd talked about it and Theo had apologized. As it had always been between them, the issue was instantly forgiven, if not entirely forgotten (especially the part when he'd blown his fucking stack and almost torn Theo's head off – that eruption of power from within had scared Draco, honestly, as he hadn't known from whence it had come).

"Daphne kick you out of her bed again?" he joshed to deflect his inner demons.

It had been a running joke in school that whenever Theo showed up alone at night in the Slytherin common room, Daphne and he had most likely been fighting. The two had been rather inseparable since fourth year, when they'd taken a shining to each other after the Yule Ball. Now, it seemed that relationship had resumed, despite the war and a Dark Mark between them. It gave Draco hope for him and Hermione…

"Har, har," Theo came back. "Actually, I came to talk to you about something important." His dark-haired friend seemed to falter as he considered how to approach the subject he wanted to discuss. "It's about my father. Severus is very ill, Drake. He won't tell any of you, and he's hiding it with potions and keeping his thoughts very carefully shielded, but I know he's sick. I've heard it rattling in his lungs twice when he's spoken to me recently, and he even coughed up blood once in my presence. He tried to hide it with a kerchief, but you can't cover up the scent of blood and illness so easily in the confined space of a tent."

Turning his head, Draco glanced at his friend with carefully guarded expression. "How sick are we talking here, Theo? Can he be treated and is he contagious?" It was a cold thing to ask, but necessary. Draco had the weight of an entire camp's safety upon his shoulders, and disease was not something to trifle with when medical facilities were impossible to find.

The dark wizard's jaw clenched. "I have no idea what it is he's got. I'm not trained in medicine, except field triage. He insists when I talk to him that it's nothing but a nagging cold." He looked at him, and even in the near dark, there was enough worry reflected in that face to shine clear through. "Will you talk to him? If he needs medicine, I'll go wherever he needs to get it."

Draco nodded without hesitation. "In the morning. Let him sleep. If he's sick, he'll require solid rest."

There seemed a little relief in his friend's countenance. "Thanks. I owe you, mate."

Draco said nothing, but he was thinking that if anyone owed another, it would be _him_ owing Theo, not the other way around – for saving Hermione from that bitch, Phaedra, and for coming with him on his desperate jumps around the islands looking for his lost witch.

"I'm falling asleep on my feet," Theo admitted around a yawn. "Catch you tomorrow." With that, he slipped off back into the night towards camp. Draco watched his friend's black, woolen cloak meld with the darkness and then turned his attention back to sentry duty. His thoughts, however, were a rioting mess just then and he found it difficult to get his mind back into the game of watching over the camp's safety.

Mort was actively subjugating whole countrysides, reaping a path of death and destruction in his wake. Severus was gravely ill. Krum, his Romanian buddy and Cadwallader were still silent behind The Fortress' walls. Pucey, Jones, Greengrass - with _his_ unborn child, and Wood were unaccounted for. Granger was in the grips of a monster, if his suspicions bore true. Two active Vampires resided in camp. His powers were growing proportionally by the day without any explanation and it was beginning to color his thoughts with darkness. Potter was invading his dreams with more and more urgency, trying to show him something, but he couldn't decipher the riddle. And the Elder Wand – the key to ending the war once and for all – was in Mort's hands and didn't look to be going anywhere else for the time being.

Salazar's bollocks, could this war get any more _fucking _difficult?

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (late night)_**

Su returned from her feeding in the nearby town of Blessington, having found herself a suitable male to drink from to replenish her needs, and then another to gorge herself upon in preparation for what she planned to give to Stretton tonight.

Slinking through the shadows into the tent he had been given for his solo use (Zabini deciding, after the event with Terry and Willem, that Jeremy was too untrustworthy to be sleeping with others, fearing the Vampire within would break loose and devour his bunkmates), she closed the canvas flaps and made her way to Jeremy's side. He hadn't stirred at the presence of another invading his space – a bad sign. It meant he was truly ill and undernourished. Of course the pallor of his waxy skin, and his raised temperature and the smell of his sweat gave him away as well.

She would _not_ let him die. If Jeremy's mate would do nothing, then she would serve as a surrogate – she would force it. It was all she could give to the man she had come to love, even knowing he would never love her in return.

Stripping off her jacket and rolling the sleeve of her flannel Muggle shirt up to her elbow, she crossed to his cot and sat upon the edge. As soon as she brushed his hand, he moved with preternatural speed, grabbing her arm, wakening from his restless slumber. "Su?" His voice was weak, shaky.

"I am here," she calmed him with a gentle touch to the fingers that bruised her forearm. "I am going to help you, Jeremy." With that, she brought her wrist to her mouth and bit hard, opening the vein. Quickly, she pressed it over his lips before he could protest. "Drink."

He fought, trying to move his head and her arm away, but she gripped his jaw tight. "Drink," she insisted. "Before you kill one of your friends or you hurt Willem in the blood claiming."

It had been blatant manipulation, whipping out Willem's name as she had, but it would be, she knew, the only thing to force his capitulation. The man was so stubborn! Thankfully, her persuasion worked, for he opened his mouth fully and began sucking, drinking her blood deep. In seconds, his hands had stopped pushing her away, and began pulling her closer.

Having never shared her blood with another Vampire in this manner, and trusting Jeremy, she was unprepared for his attack when it came. She was suddenly, unexpectedly on her back on the floor of the tent, and he'd let her arm go, his fangs fastening onto her neck instead, striking sharp and as fast as a cobra. Between one blink and the next, he had her shirt torn in half as he removed its interference from the site of his feasting. Her blood coursed through her veins as he drank up the reserves she'd intentionally, gluttonously took in earlier, bringing with it unexpected arousal. Between her legs, her body heated up, soaking her knickers in seconds. It wasn't the _Jouisseur_; it was her natural arousal for this man that burned through her and excited nerves throughout her body that had never been awakened previously.

Jeremy paused in his greedy drinking, and she felt his Vampire fully awaken as it sensed her sexual readiness. Her own _Vampirius_ sluggishly woke up, and her fangs slowly elongated. She had just enough sense to turn her head away from the temptation of his bared neck, knowing that if she bit him, she'd mark him as hers - and he would hate her for it. Tamping down her animal, coaxing it back to sleep, she shut her eyes and submitted to the moment, letting Jeremy do with her as he willed.

And he _willed_.

His Vampire was fully in control now, and frustrated in its failure to acquire Willem, it wanted a proxy for its sexual release in Su. Ripping her clothes from both her body and his own, it spared only a moment to turn her head so it could claim the other side of her neck, and when it bit into her pale flesh, Jeremy sunk his body into hers, tearing through her repaired hymen without consideration, going deep. She cried out in pain from the breach, while he moaned in ecstasy and plunged into her over and over again. After long minutes, he finally ejaculated into her with a deep, masculine groan. To her surprise, Su climaxed for her lover with a cry of rapture just as he snapped his hips and began pumping his hot, surging releases into her. Of course, he continued drinking her up at the same time, sating his beast on the rushing flavor of her adrenaline-laced blood.

Intoxicated on her rich offering, Jeremy had just enough mind to pull his fangs out of her throat before he fell into unconsciousness atop her.

Dizzy from all she had given, Su lay panting and far too weak for her own good under Jeremy's half naked, collapsed body, unable to summon enough strength to move him off. Air stirred nearby, and she knew who it was before she'd even opened her eyes. "Help me, Willem," she croaked. "His Vampire is fed and he has slipped into the darkness. I am too weak to move him on my own."

There was a pause, a sniff, and she knew the big man had been crying. How much had he seen? Most likely, he'd witnessed all of it – and would be terribly brokenhearted, no doubt. Weakly sighing, feeling her consciousness slipping in and out, she swallowed thickly against the pain in her neck – both sides – and appealed again. "Please, Willem, help us."

In an easy pull of powerful muscle, Bradley had Jeremy off of her and gently laid into his cot. A blanket covered her next, and she was lifted off the floor and into Willem's burly arms as well. He carried her across to her own tent, and gently laid her back in the only empty bunk. Gripping his wand from his back pocket, he waved it over her cot, closing the two of them in with privacy curtains and a silencing charm.

"Are you all right?" he hesitantly asked, running his index fingers over the wounds on her neck, and then waving his wand to close them with a healing charm. "You look too pale."

She turned onto her side, her whole body sore, and curled herself around him as he sat on the edge of her bunk. "I will need to feed again soon. He took too much."

There was silence between them, and then Willem made the one offer she'd never have expected of him. "You can take from my wrist, right?"

Pulling her lids back with weariness, she stared up at him in the dark, seeing his features in perfect shades of black and white. He was clearly uncomfortable, tears streaked his cheeks, and there was a terrible resignation in the set of his features. "You do not have to," she expressed her gratitude with a small pat to his arm. "I can hunt tomorrow."

"But you're hurting now," he insisted, holding his wrist towards her mouth. "You did this for him, and then some. Go on. Take what you need."

With effort, she rose to one elbow. The blanket slipped down, and she quickly adjusted it to prevent his discomfort with her nudity. "Why?" It wasn't that she didn't trust him; she'd seen into this man's mind weeks ago, when he didn't know she'd been looking. His mental shields then weren't as strong as they were now. At the time, she'd been trying to understand why he would reject Jeremy, how he felt about the man who had become his mate and the situation he'd found himself in. What she had seen convinced her that Willem Bradley was not a bad man, merely a conflicted one – and with good reason. Jeremy had been no angel in their relationship; he had taken what he'd wanted without consideration of Willem's feelings, not once, but twice. But she also understood that Willem was stubbornly denying the man he loved and wanted for foolish reasons, and that frustrated her. It was a surprise, therefore, when he selflessly offered himself up with such unchecked trust, because she'd inherently made up her mind weeks ago that this man was a rather selfish lover in general.

"Because I know you love him," he admitted in a soft, low voice, dropping his mental shields in a moment of emotional turmoil. "And I know that what you just did will protect him. Zabini really _would_ kill him if his Vampire went out of control. So, I owe you for doing what I couldn't, but should have."

_Yes, you should have_, she thought directly into his head, and just as his eyes opened wide in surprise, she grabbed his wrist and bit down, allowing her teeth to grow at a slow rate, stopping them when they were as deep as she needed, but no more. Then, she began to drink…

…and the flavors that hit her taste buds on the way down her throat were incredible! This blood was _amazingly_ rich, thicker than normal, and utterly delicious. She moaned at the burst of flavors across her tongue. No wonder Jeremy craved Bradley so!

The big blond winced as she unconsciously sucked harder, and she forced herself to let up, retracting her fangs slightly so they didn't puncture deeper, and finally to let him go once she'd taken her fill, licking the wound shut on his wrist. With a sigh, she stared up into those wide, unblinking eyes and made the offer she'd been secretly harboring in the vaults of her mind for weeks now. "If you will not be Jeremy's mate properly, Willem, then I formally ask you to release him from the partial bond you have established, and let me mark him as mine completely."

Willem's eyes shut with pain and he gripped his wrist to his chest. "I thought the mating was until I died. That it was forever."

Very gently, she shook her head. Her head's pounding from all of the excess she'd indulged in over the last few hours greatly lessened over the last minute or so, but the headache was still there, lingering behind her lids. "Mate bonding requires a blood claiming – a full sharing between partners – to take hold," she explained, slowly feeling strength returning to her limbs, her heart beating with more power with each pull of this man's potent, rather addicting blood through the veins and arteries of her body_. "_He has taken your body once, and your blood twice, but you have not claimed him as he has claimed you. _You _must make love to _him _while under the influence of the _Jouisseur_ and at the same time, drink of his blood and accept a piece of the _Vampirius_ into you. It is not enough to turn you into kindred by sipping of his life's blood once, only to bond you as his life mate, but until you do this, Willem, the bond is one-way. He is tied to you, but you are not tied to him. You can walk away at any time, leaving him bereft and unable to claim another until your death. He knows this. It is why he suffers."

He shook his head adamantly. "That can't be right. It feels like he's _always_ with me. Even shutting him out of my thoughts, I can still feel him. All I have to do is concentrate, and I know where he is at any given time. It was sort of this way before we… made love… but it got stronger once we did. And I _crave_ his body constantly." He let out a shaky breath, and turned his head in the direction of Jeremy's tent. "When I'm sleeping, when I'm on patrol, even when I'm sitting here now, I feel him in my head and in my heart and in my blood. I feel him with every breath. My… soul… reaches for him, even against my will." He gripped the area over his heart, fisting his shirt tight. "I can't get away from him. It hurts."

"That should not be possible," she insisted, not understanding how Bradley could be suffering as if he were fully bonded, when clearly he and Jeremy were not.

Swallowing heavily, he peeled his lids back and looked at her. "How do you know any of this?"

She shut her eyes on an old, secret, aching grief. Falling to her side, looking at the wall of the tent, she wiped at the tears threatening her sanity. "Do you know how old I am, Willem?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Twenty, twenty-one."

Sniffing in amusement, she shook her head. "I turned seventy-two this past January." Stretching onto her back, she stared up at his astonished mien, well-accustomed to such a reaction. "Long ago, my mother told me about her bonding with my father, and I have wished all these long years for a mating of my own just like theirs. I have lived through more than twenty-six thousand sunrises and sunsets, seen the worst of all wars, I have lived without magic as a Muggle, and I have done things that would disgust you all in the name of survival, but in all my experience, I have rarely witnessed such love as Jeremy feels for you. I _ache_ for something like that. My heart bleeds to give that man all I have." Glancing up at the handsome blond, she tried one more appeal. "I would love him until the end of my long life, and he would want for nothing, I promise you, Willem. Let him go if you will not love him as I would."

Bradley stared at her with panicked dread, his breath came in heavy pants. "I-" He swallowed again, looked towards the tent exit, stood quickly. "Let me think about it."

He could not see the action, but Su nodded in understanding. "You have a bit of time. He will not need to feed again for perhaps another week or so. The blood is more nourishing when coupled with penetrative sex."

The wizard headed for the door, but her voice calling him back gave him pause.

"It will be like tonight if we share again, Willem. Do you understand?"

The big man's fists clenched at his side. "You mean he's going to rape you again during the feeding."

Su sighed. "I mean, I will give myself to him once more, but this time, I do not think I will be able to stop myself from closing the bond and biting him back. If we do that, you will be severed from him permanently. I will need your decision before then."

He said nothing as he stepped away, but she knew he understood the score now. She would hold back out of respect for his and Jeremy's feelings, but even her Vampire heart could not resist the call of Jeremy – of the prospect of having a mate of her own, finally – for much longer.

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)_**

**_Saturday, October 28, 2000 (late night – minutes later)_**

Will crossed the compound with the intention of returning to his tent, to sleep. He was exhausted after giving blood, but more, he was heart-sore and his mind whirled with the implications of his talk with Su. To his amazement, he found himself at the entrance of Jeremy's tent instead. It took him five more minutes of freezing his arse off before he made up his mind to check on his best friend, to assure he wasn't dead (although he just somehow _knew_ he wasn't), and that he was warm enough. He sealed the entrance shut behind him.

It was freezing in the tent. He'd forgotten to cast a warming charm after taking Su away, and her own had faded as soon as he'd carried her out of there. Waving his wand, he re-established the heat, and then quickly moved to Jeremy's side. The small blanket he'd covered him with was violently shivering.

Shite!

Reaching out a hand, he pressed it to Jeremy's face; his friend was like ice. Quickly transfiguring his jacket into a large, woolen blanket, he placed it over his mate, and then slipped off his boots, jeans and shirt, and slid under the covers. Body heat was the fastest and least dangerous thing to share when someone was going hypothermic, he knew from all these years scrabbling about on the run. Pulling the blanket up over their heads, and taking Jeremy into his arms, he entwined himself around the other man, giving what he could. He rubbed naked skin in an effort to get the circulation flowing.

For a long time, he lay like that, trying to bring warmth back into his mate's body, until at last, Jeremy began to heat up. When the man curled his arms around Will's waist and he pressed his face with a sigh into Will's chest, he knew the danger had passed for now.

Why had he come back here? What had led him? Had he known, somehow, that Jeremy was in trouble and needed him, or was it guilt from what Su had said?

"_I have rarely witnessed such love as Jeremy feels for you. I ache for something like that."_

But that love had destroyed everything between them. They had been such good friends, inseparable before that night. Yes, their relationship had been strained the minute he'd begun thinking about Jeremy in a sexual manner, but they could have worked around that eventually, right?

No, the more he thought on it, probably not. Jeremy had clearly been in love with Will for a long time, and the guy would always have been hurt by Will's rejection. Eventually, it would have come to a head – to this final decision.

_I would love him until the end of my long life, and he would want for nothing, I promise you. _

Could he say the same? Could he honestly give Jeremy the life he deserved, needed, without ever feeling it sinful? Why was he so conflicted? If Jeremy had been born a woman, would it have been this hard to decide the right course of action?

No, of course not. He wouldn't feel so conflicted if he were fighting with a female, simply because he'd been raised to believe that men and women were meant to be together, regardless of the obstacles in their way; that God intended their union and so it was not sinful. It was hard to undo brainwashing doctrine that had been driven into his skull over and over again as a child by his mother and her church: God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.

He sniffed in disdain. Yeah, but God didn't suffer witches or warlocks either, according to that same dogma, and yet here he was, born with the ability to manipulate magic.

Perhaps it was hubris talking, but he believed wholeheartedly that God had made him a wizard specifically so Will could be here to fight against Voldemort. He didn't see his magic as corrupting or wicked, because he served a noble purpose with it – saving lives and fighting evil. So, if he applied the same logic to his relationship with Jeremy…

…what he discovered was that it was as his lover had attempted to explain to him that night they'd spent together in the tall grass in Kirkwall: God made Will and laid out the course of his life in advance – including the mating by a Vampire. Therefore loving Jeremy was obviously part of Will's grand life plan, right?

Right?

_Let him go if you will not love him as I would._

Was the love he could give to Jeremy any different from what Su could give the man?

No, again. Will might not have all those years of experience, but he did have one important thing going for him: he was unfailingly, unquestionably honest. And the God's honest truth was that he loved Jeremy. He loved the wizard in his arms with every fiber of his being, and it wasn't just because of the mating. They were _best friends_. They'd spent days together, nights together, always talking, joking, laughing, practice dueling, going over battle tactics and pouring over plans. They watched each other's backs, and saved each other time and again from _Avada_s and _Stupefy_s and _Crucio_s. They'd buried friends, and consoled each other afterwards over a shared bottle of Ogden's finest or whatever Muggle brand they could steal. They'd conspired to cheat at cards to beat Zabini and Fay. They'd even discussed sharing a woman together…

Right then, the answer came to him. Like an epiphany from on high, the correct course laid itself out for him, for Jeremy and for Su. They could all have what they all wanted, what they all _needed_ – if they all accepted the idea.

Could he really consider such an arrangement? Would he be too jealous?

Tonight, as he'd watched Jeremy fuck Su, he'd felt hurt, yes, but not because his mate was shagging someone else, so much as Will hadn't been able to make such a sacrifice to help the person he'd loved. He'd known Jeremy was close to death, and he'd paused, hiding behind his arguable moral dilemma, and that had cost Su dearly. The Vampiress had taught him a powerful, impressionable lesson tonight in selflessness – which was what true love was really all about.

It was time for Will to put aside his fear, to find the courage to forgive Jeremy for what had transpired previously, to stop torturing all of them with someone else's morals and morays, and to walk the path God had intended for him. He would embrace the wonderful gift of Jeremy's love as it had been given to him, and he refuse to be ashamed by the man he'd been destined to become anymore.

"I accept you," he nervously whispered in Jeremy's ear. "I… Jeremy, I love you and… I'm sorry."

In his arms, Jeremy shuddered, as if even in such a state of semi-consciousness he understood what Will had told him.

Behind his closed lids, golden eyes stared at Will in approval.

_Mateeeeee._

**X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X**

**_The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland_**

**_Sunday, October 29, 2000 (just past midnight)_**

Phil examined the wand he'd lifted from the case containing all of the confiscated rods that his enemy had acquired since Mort's rise to power. He'd _Accio'd_ Ginny's wand from the pile, and this was what leapt out at him. It was approximately ten inches long and made of elm - that much he could tell by the dark stain and grain, as his wand was the same. The core he wasn't sure of, though. He'd ask her when he got back to his room with it.

To his surprise, it had been relatively easy to get to the cabinet holding the wands: he'd simply gone to visit Macnair (who was in his bed with a violent case of poison sumac – how terrible!), and _Imperio'd _the man into getting up in the dead of night, when most of the castle's occupants were asleep (aside from the prisoners, that was, who were often forced into varying states of sleep deprivation) and ordered him to use his wand to break the curses on the glass housing for him. That way, if anyone were to get the blame for this little theft, it would be good, ol' Walden. He then got the wand he needed and ordered Walden to close the case, and they returned to his room, where he proceeded to order him to remember none of these events (in fact, he was only to recall that he'd been asleep all night). Obliviation might have been a more thorough erase of the man's memories, but Phil wasn't so talented in the delicate mind-magic stuff, and he was worried he'd slip up and not remove everything necessary. By crushing his will into Macnair and simply _Imperio-ing_ his 'master' not to remember, the elder wizard would unconsciously obey without question. It was the best solution to hiding his tracks given his current skill set.

He'd purposefully gotten Macnair to leave the glass casing for the wands curse-free so that when the time came – Halloween night – he'd be able to get into it easily and put a wand into every prisoner's hand so they could make as good a fight of their breakout as possible.

Slipping out of his contact's room, he checked both ways and stowed the extra wand inside his inner robe pocket. Hurrying back along the corridor, he unavoidably bumped into a Death Eater he didn't recognize. Performing masterfully, however, he was able to convince the man he'd been visiting his master's room to give him some salve for his sumac rash.

"I heard it's all over his nut sack," the man smirked, his front teeth crooked and yellowed. "That's gotta be the dog's bollocks!" He laughed at his own joke. "Get it? Nut sack… bollocks? Ah, I slay meself sometimes!" He laughed some more.

Phil just looked at him with a blank face, indicating that he wasn't amused (as would be expected of someone loyal to the man in question). "Yes, well, I don't believe my master finds his situation to be the least bit amusing. More… _dreadfully_ uncomfortable."

The man guffawed again and slapped him on the back as he continued on his way. "Bet he does, the old codger!" he threw over his shoulder, continuing to chortle as he moved on his way.

Moving at the same pace as earlier, trying not to call any unnecessary attention in case he ran into someone else, Phil finally made it back to his room by the one o'clock bell. Spelling the room for privacy once he stepped in, he only had a moment to wipe the nervous perspiration from his upper lip before Ginny Weasley pounced on him.

"I was worried when you didn't come back after an hour!" she chastised him, and against his better judgment, he arrogantly smirked. She smacked him on the upper arm. "Ow!" he flinched. Boy, could the girl hit! "Brutality! And after I've brought you a lovely present!" he teased.

Those pretty golden-brown eyes lit up. "You got it?" There was a tremor in her voice and the light of hope in her eyes.

Phil reached into his robes and pulled the out the wand. The moment it came into view, the red-headed witch choked on a sob, tears filling her eyes. She grabbed it and he let it go to its rightful owner. "It's a lovely design on the handle," he indicated the carved symmetrical twirling that terminated into a series of carved buttons. "Stained elm, right? What's the core?"

Sniffing, she cradled the piece to her chest and wiped at her eyes, smiling. "Dragon heartstring."

He nodded, showing her his own. They looked very similar, only his had a flechette carved out of the handle's tip on his. "They're the same. I think mine is an inch longer than yours, though, and obviously not quite so round at either end."

As soon as his wand touched against hers, the two sticks of wood resonated, buzzing as if recognizing each other. A dual chorus of gasps greeted the sensation, one from him and the other from her. They were both surprised by that odd reaction.

It took him another minute to realize that they were staring at each other over the tips of their wands, neither speaking. The mood between them abruptly shifted into something more intimately provocative. "Well, I suppose that decides it then," Ginny softly murmured, licking her lips.

Phil gave them both one more long moment to consider what they were about to do, in case there was any doubt whatsoever. When that time came and went, however, he let out the breath he'd been holding, trying to calm the pounding in his chest and appear cool. "I suppose it does," he agreed. "Shall you cast the Contraceptive Charm, or shall I?" He was surprised by how casual he sounded, like they were having a discussion about the weather, rather than getting ready to shag each other's brains out.

In a smooth move, Weasley shucked her shirt, dropping it on the floor. Her wand landed on top of it, and a moment later, her bra followed suit. Nude from the waist up, she looked at him without shame, but with cheeks pinked by eagerness, the adorable splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose highlighted against her pale skin.

Gods, she had gorgeous tits.

"You do it," she required, stepping close to him, pressing his wand to her belly.

That she trusted him with the spell for protection upon her body spoke tomes about how close they'd become over the last few days. That was a big deal, sure, but right that second, all Phil could think about was how good her pussy was going to taste. He cast the charm upon her abdomen. As soon as the pinkish light faded, they were on each other like rabid animals, and fuck it all if Ginny Weasley's kiss didn't turn him inside out.

After days of sleeping in the same bed and constantly talking (and occasionally laughing, too, but most often conspiring with like-mind how best to kill their common enemy together), he realized that _this _had been inevitable. He only hoped it wasn't a mistake.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	25. Ch 24: What's Past Is Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**A big update chapter to tide you over for a bit. Read end notes for more.**

**I'm going to use a particular scene from "The Deathly Hallows" movie for some of the interaction in this chapter – specifically because there were so many gaps in the timeline in the book that quite literally anything could have happened, and I'm exploiting that loophole, just as the movies have. If you've seen the film, you'll recognize the scene (denoted in italics) – no spoilers given here! Read on to find out…**

**P.S. THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN TO UNSEENLIBRARIAN who beta'd this chapter and gave excellent suggestions for additions/changes to this chapter! Without her, folks, this story would be filled with SPaG issues. Remember to thank her in your reviews, if you would kindly do so!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: WHAT'S PAST IS PROLOGUE**

_**Near the town of Trim, Ireland**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (just past midnight)**_

Hermione had woken up in the late afternoon the day before with a blazing headache and been forced to take a Muggle analgesic (withdrawn from the depths of her charmed Bag) to make the pounding stop. Swallowing the pills and chasing them down with bottled water (also retrieved from the depths of the Bag) she'd lain back down after in the borrowed bed, waiting for the medicine to take effect.

The exhaustion of being on the run again after being in a coma for eight weeks had finally taken its toll, and once she was horizontal, her head resting on the soft mattress, her body simply succumbed to the need for further rest. Falling into black unconsciousness, she'd dreamed…

As before, she and her two best male friends were on the Hogwarts Express, making first introductions. As soon as she left the train compartment, however, the scene shifted and she ended up bang in the middle of the year she, Harry, and Ron had been on the run, camping out.

_She was moping, wondering where Ron was at just that moment, and once again questioning whether it would be best to forget all about her ridiculous schoolgirl fancy for him, as it didn't seem likely that it would ever be reciprocated. _

_Years had passed since she'd first become aware of her feelings for her ginger-haired best friend, and she'd had this exact same conversation within the confines of her head several dozen times since she'd realized her attraction – most especially after the Yule Ball, and again after the whole Lavender incident in sixth year. And yet, just when she'd determined to let him go after such exhausting, internal debates, each and every time he'd show up and do or say something endearing that made her resolve crumble, and she'd want him again. _

_Now, though, it didn't seem as if Ron would be coming back, so maybe it was for the best to sever the ties to any romantic notions that she carried around for him. Certainly, not seeing or hearing him would allow the wound from her first crush the time it needed to properly heal, and then she could focus in the future on more likely prospects without guilt or remorse._

_Mourning what seemed the inevitable conclusion to her dilemma, she spied through a watery gaze Harry slumping into their shared tent, taking a seat across from her in a folding chair. He looked as defeated as she felt, and yet, there was a tension in him that grew darker and hungrier every day. It was there in the set of his jaw and in the angry spark in his emerald gaze, and it followed him around, tainting the very air between them. His pain was never openly discussed, but it was obvious: he wanted an end to this war, he wanted his best friend back, and he just wanted to live a normal life. No more prophecies, no more untimely deaths of loved ones. The fact that none of those goals were within sight, however, was slowly deteriorating his health and mental stability. _

_Hermione knew she could give him little respite from such stress and felt as helpless before the face of his despair as she did before her own. It was difficult to meet his stare and to open her mouth and talk to him as a result. Instead, she curled up against her knees and looked away, ashamed of her weaknesses._

_When he suddenly and unexpectedly stood before her with his hand held out for her to take, she felt it a queer solution to the tension between them, but trusted her best friend and so allow him to pull her to her feet. He took the locket from about her neck and threw it down on the cot nearby, and guided her into the center of the open space for a dance. She'd given in, but only because her blues had weighed heavily upon her mind and heart and she needed the distraction. Besides, Harry was hard to resist when he was acting his most charming, as he was just then._

_The song playing on the Wizarding Wireless Network, "O' Children," was a new release by Nick Cave, formerly a back-up vocalist and drummer for The Weird Sisters who had launched a rather successful solo career the year before. To her surprise, Hermione found she enjoyed not only the silly diversion, but also the song, too. Soon, she and Harry pranced about the tent together like two harebrained children, giggling and having a grand time._

The dream had ended there, but now that she was awake again (nearly seven hours later!), Hermione recalled that the end of that particular event hadn't been so comfortable or carefree…

_The mood changed the moment the song began tapering off and Harry closed the distance between them to pull her in tight against his frame. Right as his nose leaned down to nuzzle her neckline, an odd wrongness about the situation struck her and Hermione pulled away. _

She'd kept a bit of distance between them for days after, she remembered, and neither had ever openly spoken of the incident after the fact. Eventually, things had gotten back to normal between them, and she'd resolved to forget all about that small blip in their friendship.

Now, though, she was able to look at that period in history with a more experienced eye and admit (with some measure of mortification) that the strange feelings she'd been having around Harry then had been partially due to unresolved sexual tension. It had grown in the days and weeks after Ron's disappearance, encouraged by a combination of biology, chemistry, constant exposure to each other's presence, and nothing in the middle to interrupt the attraction. Confined to a small space, cut off from the rest of the world, staring with a daily-growing despair at the bleakness of their situation, they'd only had each other for comfort. Their long friendship and mutual respect had only made their connection stronger, drawing them closer.

The more she considered it, the more she worried that she'd unintentionally lied to Draco and the others that day she'd denied Charlie's accusations of Harry's interest in her. Re-examining that specific incident again, she began to question whether her Dragon Tamer friend had been right: had Ron died because of an unspoken jealousy towards him on Harry's part?

It seemed almost ludicrous to think in such a manner, as Harry had wanted Ginny then. For Godric's sake, they'd given up their virginity to each other the night before the Final Battle!

But had that been out of love or desperation?

Her head was beginning to hurt again, so she shoved the deep thoughts aside for the moment, choked back another aspirin, and decided to chance leaving the bedroom. She had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Dismantling the wards she'd put up earlier that day, Hermione warily made her way out the door, down the hall and into the living space. It was empty. After a careful, quiet search of the entire inside of the house, she discovered that Cormac was gone, leaving no note or hint as to the purpose of his departure or whether he'd be back or not.

Torn between relief and concern, she'd decided to stick with her plan: she'd head out on the prearranged path to find her friends… But first, she _desperately_ wanted a shower, feeling sticky and smelling rather ripe from perspiring so heavily in her sleep.

After checking the wards on the house and finding them exactly as McLaggen had set them soon after they'd arrived this morning, she'd magicked the shower in the master bath to dispense hot water and cleaned up. Pulling fresh clothing from her Bag and depositing her dirties inside, she'd combed through her hair, brushed her teeth, and then set about making a meal.

Careful not to make too much noise, she consulted her map with a dimmed down _Lumos_ spell while shut into the Master Bedroom's walk-in closet, taking every precaution she could think of to prevent anyone from outside seeing even a hint of her light through a window. Better to be paranoid than discovered.

The M4 Carriageway was directly south from her current position, approximately twenty-seven kilometers from where she was. Pinpointing approximately how far she'd have to travel to continue making the safe, circuitous route around Dublin proper, she calculated that it would take about four hours walking at a moderate pace to get to that main road - so long as she didn't have to stop or meet any delays. That would give her another three hours or so before sunrise. That meant she might be able to make it as far as Staplestown before she'd have to find shelter for the day.

And then, one more night and she'd reach Blessington! From there, maybe another half a day to find her group – _if_ they were still here and hadn't abandoned this spot for whatever reason.

She lamented that the trip would go much faster on four feet, running as the wolf, but was doggedly determined that there was no way in hell she was risking that again, even with Cormac gone. Malfoy may have been able to resist the animal's allure for a long period of time, but it seemed _her_ personality was too sensitive to the call of the wild not to eventually succumb. Knowing her limits and accepting them was one of her strengths, and in this case, Hermione would listen to her gut instinct not to try the magic of Therianthropy again, at least not any time soon.

Extinguishing her light and folding up and putting her map inside her Bag, she made last minute preparations: filling two empty water bottles from the tap, and putting them – as well as some thick blankets and other useful odds and ends she found lying about the abandoned home – into her bespelled Bag. Then, as quietly as possible, she then struck out alone for the final leg of her journey, leaving her traveling companion a cryptic note on the living room sofa, unaddressed and magicked so that only he could read it should he return to this particular house.

McLaggen knew where they'd been heading, and if he really cared to hook up with the insurrection and make good on his claims for redemption, she'd figured that eventually, he'd find her. If not… well, it would be a shame, as the loss would be the addition of a strong offensive fighter for their side – one who knew the Unmentionable Curses and could teach them to her people. She'd mourn that lost opportunity, but somehow she was sure she'd survive it.

A more pressing concern was whether her rejection of Cormac might have set him into embracing his darker side again. Merlin help them all if he defected back to the Death Eaters, for he knew that the Wicklow Mountains area was where the last of the rebellion was hiding!

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (an hour before dawn)**_

Awake and feeling particularly naughty, Ginny rubbed her naked bum against Phil's crotch. Their first time had been _thoroughly_ satisfying; her new lover had made sure she'd cried his name twice before losing himself in her. They'd both fallen into an exhausted slumber almost immediately after that, and she'd only just come awake a few minutes ago, her body rearing for another go.

It seemed, or rather felt, as if her Philip was "up" to the task, too, as his growing arousal became apparent the more she stroked against him.

"I guess it's true what they say about redheads," he sleepily commented, a smile in his tone.

Ginny turned over and gripped his erection, caressing up and down. "And what is that?" she asked, pressing nipping kisses to his bottom lip.

His fingers trailed over hers, aiding her in her inexperienced touches, teaching her how best to please him. In the darkness of his room, they couldn't see each other, but she could imagine him staring at her through a half-lidded gaze. He captured her mouth with a sensual kiss. "Their fiery tempers make them insatiable lovers." He palmed her breast, teasing the nipple.

They kissed with a need and passion that she'd never felt before. Whatever this was between her and Philip Cadwallader, it was powerful enough to leave her reeling and begging for more - literally. He obliged her pleas by flipping her onto her back and leaning over her, cradling his cock between her wet folds. She wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing against him and beseeched him to couple with her with whimpers and gouging nails.

"Promise to let me taste you at some point today," he panted against her lips, and gripped her thighs, tucking his crown against her entrance. "I've been dreaming of eating you out."

Enthusiastically, she nodded. Harry had been the only one to do that to her, and then it had only been that one time, but she'd liked the experience _very_ much. Considering how talented Phil was with his tongue and mouth, she was betting he would blow her mind with his oral expertise.

There were no more words between them after that for a long while, just a chorus of moaning, panting, gasping and finally shattering bliss. They held onto each other as the pleasure faded, lying in a tangle of hot, sticky limbs, neither one of them seeming to want to release the other.

When she could breathe again, Ginny nuzzled into Phil's neck and giggled. "So, can we finally get down to doing what I was sent here for today?"

He lifted his head up and she could just imagine his surprised expression. "Retrieving your Cloak of Invisibility _was_ the plan. Care to tell me where it is, freckles?"

Ginny grinned, liking the new nickname; no one had ever called her that before. She traced a path from his bicep over his shoulder, up his throat and over his cheek, caressing with soft touches. "Inside the one place that anyone would be a fool to consider looking for a magical item of great importance: the second floor girls' loo."

She felt Phil's mouth turn down in a frown against the pads of her fingers. "Why there?"

"Because it's Moaning Myrtle's primary haunt," she replied, impressed once against with Harry's cleverness in choosing the one ghost in the castle guaranteed to stay put, as she had been exorcised by the Ministry back in the 1940s and her spirit was permanently obliged to remain at the school, unable to pass through the Veil to her final rest or to leave the grounds – ever. Besides, the ghost hated Tom Riddle – her killer – and had adored Harry enough to agree to his request that she hold onto the item in question in the hopes it could one day be used to thwart the Dark Lord if things went badly for the side of light.

Myrtle, Ginny knew from having met her more than once during her years as a student, may have been an annoying pest at times, but she was also rather trustworthy in her vindictiveness, and she _was_ an expert at hiding herself in the U-bend when necessary. Harry had entrusted her with protecting the secret hiding place of the Cloak of Invisibility and a set of very specific instructions for its retrieval by anyone from the Order of the Phoenix – which included Ginny, as she'd been indoctrinated the day before the Final Battle. "She's the Cloak's guardian, but in order to retrieve it, Harry placed two requirements upon the ghost: first, the person retrieving the Cloak has to be a true female – Polyjuice won't cut it."

Phil's lips twitched. "Smart. That rules out Mort and most of the Death Eaters around here."

She nodded, although he couldn't see the gesture. "And second, this witch has to use magic to show Myrtle a very specialized tattoo."

Her lover's smirk crawled up the side of his cheek. "You've been inked?"

"Magically, yep."

She felt his lips split into a wide grin. "Obviously, it's not in a place you can easily see. Care to show me where it is?"

Ginny giggled and guided his hand down and around to where the tattoo lay covered under a very intricate Glamour Charm. "Hmmm, maybe you can kiss it to ease the lingering hurt from being spell-marked there," she suggested. "Oh, and while you're down that way…"

Phil took his cue without another word, dropping kisses in a determined path south with his lips and tongue. He kissed over where she'd indicated the Order tattoo was, and then dipped even lower…

An hour later, she lay back against the pillow, more sated than she thought a person had a right to be, utterly sleepy from having orgasmed several more times, and riding the high of a serious endorphin rush. Yes, sir, she'd been right: her new lover seriously blew her mind with his oral talent and his seemingly endless enthusiasm to please her.

Godric, she needed be careful or she just might fall in love!

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (morning)**_

Upon waking up alone in his cot after having the most delicious dream of Will's warmth enveloping him, Jeremy had slowly cranked his sore, tired body out of make-shift bed and thrown on some Muggle sweats and trainers. Grabbing his morning kit, he made his way to the communal bathing area here in Tent City. He could smell Su all over him and wanted the scent gone so he didn't offend his mate anymore than he already had.

Entering the Shower Tent, he looked about for an open space. Several bathtubs had been brought from The Madam's House via Undetectable Extension Charmed bags and Shrinking Spells, and jury-rigged here for any witch or wizard with a wand to be able to use by casting an _Aguamenti_ and a Heating Charm. Privacy curtains surrounded each tub, allowing both men and women to share the space as equals without worry. The rules had been laid out for the bathing area soon after they'd come to Wicklow and set up the new camp, and _no one_ dared cross Clearwater (who was in charge of overseeing this area of the compound) regarding her requirements of no stall sex without a Silencing Charm, and absolutely no illicit peeking. Anyone caught violating her regulations was promised a very painful hex that would guarantee ugly sores somewhere unpleasant. So far, no one had stepped a toe out of line.

Jeremy picked out an available space, hopped in, and closed the curtains, as required. He undressed and cast a Silencing Charm about the area out of habit. The spell had the dual effect of allowing him the pleasure of loudly wanking off to a fantasy of having his mate under him while enjoying a steaming, hot fall of water against his skin and not having to worry about anyone hearing. After he'd taken care of 'business,' he washed up with his rationed bar of soap. Sitting tailor-style in the tub, he leaned a mirror against the ceramic side and used it to ensure his wand-shave didn't miss any spots. At the last second, he decided to remove the small stubble of chin growth he'd been sporting for months, going totally bare-faced. Running a hand over his head, he realized his hair was now at least three-quarters of an inch out from his scalp, and decided to magically buzz it again, using his small mirror to ensure he did a thorough job.

Rinsing the excess hair off with quick charm, he collected his things and replaced them in his kit, then got redressed and made his way back to his tent to change into weather-appropriate garb. That done, he hurried over to the main pavilion, looking to quiet his rumbling stomach.

To his immense disappointment, Will did not show up for breakfast. Maybe he was out on patrol?

Yeah, right - wishful thinking. It was more likely that his mate was avoiding him again.

_Will._

Shite, he'd done some serious damage there last night. He'd been forced by his other half to violently shag Su, and he'd been aware through their bond (although unable to do anything to stop the outcome) that Will had been nearby, witnessing the act. In fact, his _Vampirius_ had intentionally gone after the half-Vampiress not just for blood, but for sex to punish his mate for dodging the trap it had set yesterday. It wanted to hurt Will for denying it.

_Mission accomplished, you fucker_, he snarled in disgust at the thing inside of him.

His _Vampirius_ was sated for the moment, and was resting, Su's donated blood from the night before having contained enough sustenance for the creature to fall into a state of temporary, lazy slumber. Despite the donation, he knew his beast wasn't slaked enough to go back into a torpor state any time soon, though. Something was happening with the demon-virus inside of him – something that had never happened to him before, and he wasn't quite sure why or how. All he knew was that it was 'awakening' to itself, evolving, in a manner of speaking. It had started to become curious about the world and especially his mate since he'd shared his life energy with Will to save him after the attack at Kirkwall. Something had upped the ante between them then.

Su appeared in the tent opening, spied him and shyly took a seat on the opposite end of the table from him. A pink blush dotted her pretty cheeks, but she refused to look him in the eye again, her whole attention on the plate of food that Morag set before her. Jeremy watched her, saddened by the distance that had grown between them. They were good friends, and the situation felt like Will all over again.

The half-Vampiress had freely given to him without complaint the night before, letting him take from and ruin her. A part of him was grateful for her unconditional sacrifice, but the other part was uncomfortable with what she was doing, too. He knew she wanted to mate him. With his bond only half-complete with Will, it was quite possible that she could accomplish her wish if she simply bit him and inflicted her version of the _Jouisseur_ upon him. Thankfully, he knew that Su recognized that to force him would be no different from what he had done to his own mate, and his resentment of her would be ten times as worse, because he wanted _Will_ to complete their bond with him, not to find himself force-mated to another Vampire.

After last night's fiasco, would Will's defenses go even higher this time, though? Should he keep fighting what amounted to a losing battle with his best friend, or should he just seek what joy he could get from Su? They had a solid friendship, he trusted and respected her unreservedly, and he _was_ rather attracted to her. Taken all together, what they had was a recipe for love to grow.

True, as long as Will bore his mark, he couldn't give Su the _Jouisseur_ back, but he could take her to his bed and it would be good for them both (if not the mind-blowing ecstasy that a true mating could provide). It would also give them both an endless supply of blood, as they could simply drink from each other when there was need. And, Will could move on, find a nice girl and settle down with her.

Yeah, that might be a good enough compromise for the three of them to carve out some bit of happiness from their painful situation, allowing them to finally move on with their lives… But it would also mean having to completely give up his love for Will, for there would be no room for his blond lover in the bed that he and Su would make together. Could he do such a thing?

Shite, just the thought of it left his chest aching and nearly brought him to tears.

Morose thoughts plagued him as he finished his meal, downed a cup of hot coffee and left the tent, very aware of Su's gaze upon his back. He went in search of Malfoy and Zabini, hoping they'd have some back-breaking, exhausting task to give to him to help take his mind off of his troubles.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (morning – minutes later)**_

Stretton walked into the War Tent, interrupting the fight Blaise was just about to have with Draco over his insistence on leaving that morning on yet another one of his jumps around the islands to find Granger. The half-Vampire looked desperate as he begged for something to do to get him either out of camp or too busy to think; he was practically vibrating with the need to release some energy. The guy was an egg waiting to crack.

Blaise had the perfect task in mind to solve everyone's problems in one fell swoop.

"Fine, if you're going, then take him with you," he met Draco's impassive, grey stare as he pointed to Jeremy. "He's an Animagus, _and_ he's got his other… talents... to keep you safe." When his best friend looked to debate the issue, Blaise put his hand up to brook no argument. "Him, me or Theo - your choice, 'cause we've all told you that you're not going alone out there."

Draco clamped his lips shut, sighed through his nose and tersely nodded, seeing the wisdom in accepting the compromise. Stubborn as a mule the man may be, he was no fool, understanding that any roaming around during the day put him at twice the risk of being seen or captured. Having powerful backup was the smart tactic.

And the truth was that Blaise could see the undeniable logic in his friend's contention: they needed information about the current state of Ireland. The question of whether the Dark Lord's subjugation here had yet begun lay heavily upon them all. If so, that would mean England and Scotland had been thoroughly conquered and could no longer be visited for supply raids, and that their safe houses there would have to be permanently abandoned. Their isolationism here in the Wicklow Mountains – the one thing keeping them protected from detection – could also be their doom if they didn't stick their heads out once in a while to see what was going on outside of the area's safety net. Since Malfoy had been all over the U.K. with his family as a child visiting his father's political allies, he could Apparate around to the most places.

Besides, the woman Draco so desperately loved was out there, suspected to be in the hands of a Death Eater – possibly even McLaggen - and he was hell-bent and determined to find her and bring her back where she belonged. There was no power on earth that could stop him from trying. Truthfully, Blaise could understand that obsessive sentiment now that he had Pansy; he would walk through fire and lay down his life for his woman, if required.

Relieved to see something going in the right direction today, Blaise turned to their _numero uno_ scout, meeting Jeremy's odd cat-like eyes. "You'll go with Malfoy north to Drogheda. While you're at it, take Cornfoot with you, too. The guy can fly as a raven and scout from above for you, while you two have your noses to the ground. Keep him-" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at his best friend, "from doing something stupid in the search for the Captain. Oh, and take a dozen Bags of Holding with you, too. We're running low on toiletries, booze and canned food." He let out a deep exhale as it came to the repugnant part of his job. "You know the drill for newbies on supply runs, so make sure your 'trainee' gets the message about our 'no capture' policies." Jeremy grimly nodded, and Blaise knew he could still thoroughly count on the man's loyalty, despite everything they'd been through since the revelation of his birth status. "Good, be back here with Stephen in an hour."

Excited to be made busy, Stretton nodded and left the tent with alacrity.

Draco's sinister chuckle surprised him. "You're a bossy S.O.B this morning. Either you got up on the wrong side or Pans is rubbing off on you."

Blaise rubbed a hand across his stubbly cheek. He needed a shave. "She's trouble on legs." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "And what legs!"

His friend shook his head. "You and Theo – whipped to the bone."

"And you're not?"

He gave Draco a pointed look. The guy had the grace to actually blush at that, his pale cheeks pinking as he cleared his throat and turned his attention to gathering up the map they'd been studying, folding it neatly and placing it inside an inner pocket of his robes. "I'm going to see Snape. Apparently, he's hiding an illness and Theo's concerned."

At the thought of sickness in the camp, Blaise's attention went on high alert. "What kind of ill?"

Ice-grey eyes glanced at him sideways. "Coughing up blood."

An alarm bell went off in Blaise's head. A few months back, he'd had a dangerous cough, but at Draco's insistence, he'd gone to see Snape, who gave him some Muggle medicine combined with six different, foul-tasting potions. "If it's what I had, it's probably treatable. If it's not… you know we don't have a healer here. Combat injuries aren't the same as disease."

The blond head dipped once in acknowledgment. "I know." He stepped towards the tent exit. "I'll find out what he needs to get better. Be back in an hour." With a quick stride, he was gone.

Not a minute later, Theo came looking for Draco. He let the guy know where their fearless leader had gone. "Good," Nott pursed his lips and nodded. "Maybe Severus will get his head out of his arse finally and take care of his own shite. I'm sick of him playing the bloody martyr all the time."

Blaise smirked. "Yeah, well, there's a lot of that going on around here this year."

Theo cracked a maniacal grin. "I blame the non-Slytherins we're hanging with. They're rubbing off."

"Cack, I hope not," Blaise thumped a closed fist over his heart. "Salazar save me from being reckless and noble like Granger!"

Theo shook his head and gave a wicked snicker. "Sorry mate, but I think it's too late for you. You're right slummed in that bed." He turned and left, his robes billowing behind him in a dramatic flair that would make his real father mighty proud.

Putting the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubbing, Blaise groaned at the inescapable truth: Theo was right - two years was all it had taken for him to be pussified by goody-good Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Fuck, but he was a white hat, pink tutu wearing fannie, wasn't he?

He thought about all of the other Slytherins in camp…

Oh, well, at least he was in good company.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (morning – minutes later)**_

Draco gave no notice as he barreled into Snape's tent, casually waving his wand to take down any wards across the entrance. They fell effortlessly before his growing, darker powers.

He caught Severus in mid-cough, a kerchief held before his mouth as his spine bent over and he was racked by spasms. He hurried to his godfather's side, holding him up. When the attack faded, he guided the man to sit down on his cot, _Accio'd_ and _Scourgify'd _a drinking glass, and used a controlled _Aguamenti _to fill it, handing it over to his former Head of House. The man downed the whole thing in series of large gulps, his hand shaking the whole time. When the glass was empty, Draco refilled it and waited patiently until it, too, was drained. Sweat dotted the elder wizard's forehead and his lips were darkened with blood.

Setting the empty glass aside, he gave Snape an arch look. "How bad is it really?"

Lying back into his cot, Snape turned onto his side, taking a deep breath that rattled through wet lungs. Sick as he was, however, nothing could keep the snark from his dry tone. "I'm in the rather lethal grips of a mycobacterial infection often referred to by the Muggles as _tubercles bacillus_, also known as Tuberculosis – what we wizards refer to as 'consumption'. The cough is infuriatingly painful and the erratic fever has set me into a delirium twice in the last twenty-four hours. Other than that, I'm exceedingly bored, as I can neither work, nor leave my tent. How are you?"

At the identification of the illness, Draco involuntarily stepped back once, caught the reaction and forced his dread to take a seat for the moment, holding still. He'd heard of this disease and knew it to be not only very catching, but also deadly. His father's older brother, Marcellus, had died of it when he'd been a lad of six years, leaving Lucius an only child. "Is there any hope?"

The Potions Master shrugged. "The Muggles have medicine for it, but we have none in camp. I gave the last of it to Mr. Zabini before we left Kirkwall."

"_Blaise_ was the carrier?"

Thinking back, his friend _had_ been battling a nasty cough for weeks, and he'd taken on a grayish sheen to his skin before he'd finally gone to see Snape for help. But where had he picked it up? "It's very contagious, I've heard," he stated, scratching across the itchy stubble of morning growth on his chin and cheek, his concern growing by the second. "Probably got it on a mission touching something he shouldn't have."

His mentor's liquid black eyes bore into his. "The bacteria have been known to live on surfaces in a dry, inert state until they come into contact with a host. All Mr. Zabini would have had to do was wipe his hand across a contaminated surface. Fortunately, the rate of infection is generally low, but potentially everyone he's come in contact with since he began coughing is now a carrier. In most cases, the infection remains latent – only about one in ten will actually see it develop into full-blown illness." He coughed into his bloodied rag again.

Panic crawled up Draco's spine. Every one of them was possibly infected? "Is there a treatment?" To his immense relief, Snape nodded. "What medicine do I need to find? Where do you suggest I go to get it and how much will I need for everyone in camp?"

"There are several things you'll need, some of which can be gotten at a Muggle hospital, and the others only at St. Mungo's," Snape sighed. "Hand me that book over there," he pointed to a large tome sitting on top of one of the trunks in the room. Draco brought it to him – _The Big Book of Pharmaceuticals_ - and Severus weakly sat up, flipping through the index, and then to a certain page. He looked over and noted that Draco hadn't moved and huffed at him. "Write this down, boy, so you don't screw it up!"

Looking about, he found some parchment, quill and ink on a make-shift table near the back of the tent that Snape had set up for his potions' workings. "Go," he bid the man when he was ready to begin taking down the instructions.

"In a Muggle hospital, you'll need to go into their chemist room and locate the following drugs: Niazid – also called Nydrazid, Laniazid, and Rifampin – also called Rifampicin or Rifaldazine," Snape rubbed a weary hand through his limp, oily hair. "Take it all, as infected patients require several doses of the antibiotics, and since we're going to give them to everyone in camp… Also, we'll need fever reducers, called aspirin. Make sure you take someone who is familiar with Muggle brand names of common drugs, when you go out to look for these things."

"Stretton and I are going out on a supplies raid with Cornfoot in about half an hour," Draco informed him, finishing writing down the requirements. "They've both got a Muggle parent. Between the two, I think they should know. That all?"

Snape shut the book with a heavy thud. "At Mungo's, if you're going to risk getting in there, then just steal it all and pack it carefully. You know potions well enough by now to know what is used for common treatments, and what items can cause harm if touched. Handle it all with care. And make sure you bring back expectorant rubs, too - the eucalyptus one for lungs, and the peppermint for headaches."

Notating it all, Draco replaced the inkpot stopper and dried the parchment with his wand. Folding it up, he slipped it into his inner robes pocket next to his map for safekeeping. "We'll be back by nightfall," he informed his godfather, taking the book away and replacing it on the trunk, then turning and tucking the older man in. "In the meantime, I order you to rest." Snape raised an eyebrow at him at that, but Draco merely stared him down, letting his elder know that he respected him, but would take no guff about this. "I'll have Morag bring you breakfast in a bit, lunch at noon and dinner when the sun sets. Is there anything else you may need?"

Too weak to argue, Severus merely shook his head and shut his eyes. For a moment, he looked as he might in final repose, and Draco felt his chest tighten at the thought. Snape had always been there for him, even when he was hundreds of kilometers away and hidden, he'd always counted on his mentor staying alive and well. The old snake-in-the-grass could never die. Yet, looking down upon that waxy pallor now, he realized that this last bit of optimism was folly – everyone died. You just hoped that when it was your turn, it was on your feet and fighting with the last bit of strength you had next to the people you loved. Illness, though, was something else altogether, as it robbed you of the chance for personal valor and a dignified ending. Thinking of Severus beating the odds to this point only to be laid low by disease didn't settle well.

"I'll save _you_ this time," he murmured quietly at the now-dozing man, his mind traveling back briefly to a terrifying escape from Hogwarts the night before his seventeenth birthday, when his mentor had taken Draco's sin upon those thin shoulders of his and felled an old man in his stead.

Casting a slight warming charm upon the tent, he closed the flaps behind him and went out to find Morag to inform her of her additional duties. That done, he returned to the War Tent. When they reported for duty, he laid out the plan for Stretton and Cornfoot.

Ten minutes later, the three walked to the edge of the camp's perimeter wards before Disapparating away to London to make breaking into St. Mungo's Hospital their first priority. After that, it was to find a Muggle hospital or chemist's emporium in or near Drogheda, and to collect any information they could on the Dark Lord's plans for Ireland.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Staplestown (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (morning to mid-afternoon)**_

Hermione had made excellent time with a quickened pace under the cover of darkness, and had found another empty Muggle home – situated on a farm off of some side road named Mill Race Manor - just as dawn had sprinkled the horizon. Breaking in through the back door, checking for any living bodies with a quick spell and finding the home unoccupied, she'd thoroughly warded it behind her, deciding to stay there for the day. As she'd walked the house, getting the lay of the rooms, she'd munched on an apple for her breakfast. Like the home in Trim, this one had also been hurriedly abandoned, and she put the time frame as somewhere around six to eight months or so ago, as the few remaining contents in the cupboards were still in-date.

Taking what she could, she refilled her water bottles from the still-functioning tap, which ran off a natural aquifer on the property (a quick look at a wall meter near the sink – labeled, conveniently, 'ARTESIAN WELL PRESSURE' - was the dead give-away), and then used the loo. Thank God for working plumbing!

Shutting the curtains in the master bedroom, she'd found a blanket and a spare pillow left behind (along with most of the contents of the closet and drawers; the owners had obviously packed light for a quick escape), she dragged her tired body to the bed, got her shoes and robes off, and fell immediately to sleep.

The sound of a goat outside in the yard in distress woke her straight up at some point in the mid-afternoon. The thing was bleating like mad, and the unmistakable sound of a dog growling, followed by the goat being felled in a violent tussle had her throwing her shoes and robes on and heading to the kitchen window that overlooked the back area of the property. She moved the curtain ever so slightly with her wand…

The dead goat was being dragged by its bloodied neck by a large golden brown-grey wolf to the back door.

Shite.

She watched as the wolf got to the bottom step and dropped his hold on the animal that was to be, presumably, dinner. He then wiggled his nose into the Bag of Holding that was wrapped about his neck, and in a release of magic, Cormac transfigured his form back to normal in all its naked glory, wand in his mouth. With blood coating his lips, he transferred the wand to his hand and stood up.

Godric, he was fully erect and straining, and his muscled body was glistening with sweat, and…

Hermione ducked her eyes and dropped the curtain, heading slowly to the back door to give him time to put some _fecking_ clothes on. Absently, she fiddled with Sning, turning it around and around and around on her finger.

Only one more day, she told her flagging spirits. Then she'd be back with Draco and all of this – this mixed-up, sick attraction she felt to Cormac because of the stupid Transfiguration - could just be one bad memory.

Sning squeezed her finger, not in answer, but in support. The hold was longer than usual, feeling like a hug. _Thanks_, she silently offered the enchanted piece of jewelry. For whatever reason, whenever Sning 'talked' to her, she felt comforted. It was like having a real friend on her side.

One squeeze.

She smiled, shored up her courage and straightened her shoulders, and opened the back door.

Cormac was pulling a dark blue jumper over his head, covering up his bare torso. "I can't stand potted meat. It'll be nice to have the real thing after so long without," he calmly stated, as if he hadn't just slaughtered an animal whose blood colored his teeth pink… As if the last words they'd spoken to each other hadn't caused her to run crying and terrified from him. "I've heard goat is actually quite good." He looked up at her, and those tawny eyes measured her coolly. "I'll clean it, if you'll cook?"

The conversation was too surreal.

"Sure," she heard herself respond, lowering the wards around the door, turning and going into the kitchen to search through the neglected cookware, her mind already turning over logistics of preparing the meat, forcibly ignoring a confrontation with McLaggen right that second. This was his peace offering, after all. There would be time to talk after they'd both calmed down a bit… and the desire to lick his neck and offer him her backside dimmed.

Fucking animal hormones sucked. Of course, it didn't help that she was coming up on the middle of her cycle, when she ovulated and was as randy as hell.

Ignoring it was the best course of action for now. Concentrating on a project – cooking and storing the goat meat when it was time – really was the best option. In fact, she decided, she was going to filch the majority of the kitchen – pots, pans, utensils, cups, and anything else in the house that she could find that her people might need when they reunited. There was plenty to go around here, all unused and rotting away, so since they didn't have an owner anymore, she'd just appropriate them for the cause.

Cormac came in to get some large pots and returned with skinned meat parcels. Thank the Founders he'd left the head, hooves and organs outside, although he did bring in the kidneys and liver, as those were edible. To Hermione's great relief, it was like looking at really bloody meat from the market; she couldn't really tell one piece from another aside from the amount of fat marbling through it. And with the use of her wand, she was able to speed up the steaming process so that all of it was done by sunset, a few hours later.

Using rosemary, salt, pepper and garlic from the spice rack, she picked out a nice few cuts for her and her companion – who had gone to shower (with the help of a heating charm and the well's pressurized water source) and nap. By the time they had supper at five o'clock, the meat had been neatly packed away in 'borrowed' Tupperware, and put into stasis in her Bag (along with everything else she'd deemed important to take with them).

Cormac took the seat at the kitchen table across from her and smiled. "Smells wonderful," he deeply inhaled. "Where did you find the potatoes and green beans?"

"Packaged and canned food," she replied, carefully watching him. "I checked for poisons or spells before I opened any of it, as usual. It was cleared and fresh." She looked around. "Aside from the dust, this place looks as if it was left in a hurry by its owners, who were apparently fastidious in general. Everything was ordered quite well in the cabinets, even the pot lids."

He eagerly tucked in, using the knife and fork settings to cut off a hunk of meat. The look on his face as he savored while he chewed was almost orgasmic. "This is fucking amazing, Granger," he smiled once he'd swallowed. "It's heaven."

Still wary of his every move, she ate in silence, having to admit that the pressure cooker and spices had done wonders for making the meat as juicy and tender as venison. The others were going to love what she brought back!

"Were there other goats out there?" she asked, hopeful.

McLaggen nodded. "Three of them – two now. This one was easiest to take down. It was lame from its hooves growing out and turning in, because no one's around to file them down. There's also a cow out there, and a pen that the chickens go in and out of freely that leads into the enclosed grazing area. They're living on rain water, grass, leftover hay in the open barn and bugs."

She glanced at him sideways. "You know a lot about farm life?"

He shrugged. "My uncle had a small one in Germany. We'd go there sometimes during the summer to help out."

Hermione considered that while quietly chewing her food. When the silence became too strained, she finally spoke up. "Are you sorry?"

His fork paused on the way to his mouth, and then fell back to the plate. "For scaring you yesterday – yes, very much so. For wanting you – no." He took a drink of water. "I know where we stand, Granger. But it's like you said: the animal transfiguration screws with your head, and I know your wolf wanted me." He stared at her with those long-lashed, light gold-brown eyes – so like the eyes of a wolf – and she knew that he was right. She couldn't deny the truth any more than he could: her animal side had been attracted to him – still was, and it was difficult to fight that off.

"I'm in love with Draco Malfoy," she firmly stated. "I will never willingly betray that."

He nodded. "And I'm in love with you – same promise."

Shite. Did he just say that? _SHITE!_

She shook her head. "You don't know me well enough to-"

He scoffed and cut her off. "Don't insult my intelligence. I know you better than you think. I've been watching you since fourth year, when you appeared on Krum's arm at the Yule Ball." He talked in between chews and swallows, eyes on his plate. "All the rest of that year, I tried to get your attention. I requested a tutor from McGonagall for my homework, hoping I'd get you. Instead I got Ernie _duff-head_ Macmillan. In fifth and sixth year, I signed up for the same Advanced classes and chose seats near you. I sat as close as I dared in the Great Hall and the Library, but you were always surrounded by your friends, and couldn't get an 'in' there. I tried out for Quidditch just so you'd notice me. I even made up some shite to Sluggy when his interest in me was waning, so I could stay in his Club and keep seeing you." He shook his head in incredulity for his actions back then. "I begged my parents to use the last of my savings in my Gringotts account to buy and send me the best robes to impress you for his Christmas bash." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I wrote you fucking poetry, Granger. Do you think a bloke does any of that for a passing fancy? _Please._"

Stunned speechless for the first time in a long time, Hermione held her breath. She let it out slowly when it started to become painful. "You were fixated on me. An unresolved schoolboy crush," she insisted.

He glanced up at her, amused. "I'm not bragging, but I lost my cherry in third year. By the beginning of sixth, I'd already had eight girlfriends under my belt. Since then, I've fucked my way through half of The Madam's House – including that twisted bitch, Phaedra, so I think I know the difference by now between sex, infatuation and love. As crude and disrespectful as this is gonna sound: if it was only about conquering you, I'd have checked you off of my 'to do' list and moved on already." He looked down again, and pink tinged his cheeks. "I want your heart, not just your body. Always have. That's why, what I did to you… what I took from you that first time… I _never_ wanted to hurt you like that. It hurts me to think I could have done that to you." He shook his head with shame, refusing to meet her eye, the blood in his cheeks suffusing the skin a darker red. "The conversion… I already explained how it flips your personality around, turning you inside out. When it's done, everything you loved before becomes suddenly repulsive to you, and you want to hurt or destroy it. Everything you hated before, you revel in instead. It's a complete mind fuck." He ran fingers through his hair as he leaned an elbow on the table, and planted his palm over the damaged side of his face. "I was obsessed with wanting you already, but it became something dirty and ugly under Mort's reconditioning. When Phaedra told me you were with Malfoy, I began hunting you down in earnest. I wanted to punish you. I couldn't stop myself. I was _so angry_ all the time."

Tears leaked out of the creases of his eyes, trailing down his face.

"And then there you were, in front of me one day and…"

It took several quiet moments for him to calm his emotions to continue. His jaw clenched and his chest hitched several times, and he kept his eyes hidden from view behind his fingers as he struggled to regain his dignity and control. Hermione waited and watched, anxious, her wand in her lap under the table in a tight grip, just in case.

"I ruined you. I ruined any chance for us, I know. All I can do is try to make it up to you," he finally muttered, his voice hoarse, as if he'd been screaming. "But this wolf thing… yeah, it's messed with my head, too. I think I've got it under control now, though." He sat back and looked at the palm of his free hand, clenched it once, and dropped it into his lap. "Still, you're an alpha female in the prime of her breeding, and the wolf in me wants you bad. Even today, trailing you from a distance to make sure you were safe, I could smell your body's readiness to mate. It pulled at me, made me aggressive..."

"That's why you killed the goat," she guessed.

He nodded, wiping the tears from his face and sniffing. "Sex or blood – either would have done." He smirked with ill-humor. "Bringing it to you was my animal's way of letting you know I want to win your affection. It won't let me give up trying even knowing you don't want me."

There was still one thing he hadn't addressed yet – the burning question that lay between them and had haunted her thoughts for weeks. "What happened to change you? If the conversion was so thorough, as you maintain, what caused it to reverse?"

"You still have that little poisonous ring?" he asked the rhetorical question. He knew she did; he'd undressed her of everything _but_ the ring while she'd been unconscious at his mother's cottage. "Whatever chemical cocktail it pumped into me when it bit me the first time, it scrambled my magical aura within moments. It wasn't just my flesh dissolving that caused me to start screaming, you know." He pulled his left forearm up, tugged back the sleeve and showed her the sinister tattoo that marred his perfect skin. She shuddered, hating to even look at the thing. "See how it's fading? When my aura changed, it shut down Mort's connection to my brain. The Dark Mark on my arm has been rendered null and void as a result. It's going away. I haven't felt a single summons from him since that day, nor have I heard his voice or seen him in my dreams. My feelings have returned to normal, but… I remember everything. Your enchanted jewelry couldn't spare me that, I guess."

Hermione took his every word in, already finding the holes in the argument. "How do you know the Mark doesn't work anymore? Maybe Mort can feel you, but you just can't feel him?"

He quite firmly shook his head. "I experimented in the weeks after the destruction of The Madam's House to see if that nauseating habit it had of squirming under my skin whenever I was near others bearing the Dark Mark or close to the Dark Lord, himself, would come back. That's where I was going everyday when I left the cottage; I was testing my theory, curious to know if I was truly free or not." He looked slightly hopeful. "Not a single twitch from the bloody thing, even when I dared to approach the group that Mort led that was subjugating Norwich. I got in real close to him – twenty-five or so feet – and even touched a newly-recruited Death Eater on the arm, pretending to offer her praise. None of them seemed to recognize me as having been one of them, and Mort didn't even glance my way. I think, for all intents and purposes, they think I'm dead by now." He jerked his chin towards her head. "That's where I got the idea to shift your magical aura the other day, you know. I figured if it worked for me, it would work for you, too."

She couldn't help but be impressed with his ingeniousness, no matter the pounding headache it had left her with. "Desperate times, desperate measures. You did the right thing."

He glanced up and they locked gazes. "I know I keep saying this, but… I'm sorry for always hurting you, Hermione. I'm trying not to be that person anymore. I'll work on getting this wolf thing under control."

Trying to weed through the layers of truth versus lies by noting facial tics or other such tells, she intently assessed her companion's mien. To her surprise, it seemed that Cormac was being honest.

Nodding, she accepted his pledge. "It's not going to be easy. The others… they won't accept you at first, maybe not ever. Most of them will want to kill you. You'll have to endure their censure and mistrust."

He took a deep breath and let it out fast. "Yeah, I figured. But I'm not doing this for them, Granger."

"I know, and I thank you for all you've done for me since Kirkwall," she softly conceded. "With time, you'll earn your heart back, Cor. I'll help you, so long as you're always truthful with me."

He nodded and raised his glass in a toast to her. "Gryffindor to the end," he ominously pronounced and downed the contents in a big swig.

They finished their meal in silence. After, she showered, changed clothes, swiped what she could from the house – all of the adult clothing, blankets, towels, pillows, toiletries, in-date medicine, kitchen utensils, and books – and made a mental note to return here soon after she reunited with the others, so they could collect the animals. Fresh eggs, goat milk (if there were females) and beef would be a welcome treat for her group, she was sure.

When they were ready, Cormac handed her his things, she turned her back on his nudity and he transfigured into the wolf again, agreeing to scout ahead for her as they walked towards their ultimate goal of Blessington.

It wasn't until they were an hour out that she realized she hadn't dreamed of Harry during this last rest period. She wondered why.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital, Drogheda**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (evening)**_

The raids on St. Mungo's in London had been successful. The place had been practically deserted, as there was very little staff remaining, and fewer patients (everyone in the Janus Thickey Ward had been done away with at the start of the new war). Death Eaters tended to trust only their own for healing, and most of the competent medical staff had been moved to The Fortress directly. The place held very little in the way of important potions, but what was there, they'd taken under the cover of a powerful Disillusionment Charm and some stealthy movement.

Apparating to Drogheda by Side-Along had been dangerous, as taking three together was ill-advised normally due to the dramatically increased splinching factor because of mass distribution, but Draco's strangely growing magical strength had made it as easy as if there had only been two of them. Stretton had looked at him funny once they'd arrived in the empty safe house they'd previously made use of during their frequent jumps around last year, but the guy had been smart enough to keep his mouth shut and carry on with the mission.

The city had been decimated, and the stench from the dead lying about in the open air was awful. Ripping up pieces of cloth, they each tied them around their mouths and noses to ward off disease the best they could. "Shite, they're hitting Ireland now," Cornfoot stated the obvious, his deep voice muffled behind his make-shift barrier. "Guess the main island's done for." He looked decidedly depressed by that.

Draco kept his eyes on the horizon, as they scanned the street from the safe house window. "Didn't look like it when I went to Dumfries recently. The city there is fine. Could be he's jumping around in a random pattern."

"Looking for traces of us," Jeremy grimly stated.

"Regardless, we have a job to do," Draco reminded them. "Do either of you know where the Muggle hospital is?"

Stretton nodded. "When we took shelter here in January, I check it out then. Swiped some supplies we needed."

"Good, so you can lead us right to the Chemist's building," Stephen joked.

"Yep," the half-Vampire asserted with a smirk. "I'm just that kind of good."

Draco made an executive decision. "We'll change here. We can move faster as animals, and have better warning should something be up ahead."

They all agreed. As the only non-Animagus of the group, Draco had to strip down and put everything in his Bag before changing shape. Cornfoot was good enough to put his wand in after the clothes and then to secure the Bag around wolf-Draco's neck. When they got outside, the other two simply shifted into their animal forms. Stephen, in a raven's cloak, took to the sky as if he'd been born to it, and Jeremy's big, black cat took off at a slow canter down the street, sticking to the shadows of buildings, large debris and abandoned vehicles as much as possible. Behind him, Draco followed, keeping his nose and ears alert.

It took them half an hour to reach the hospital – Lady of Lourdes, according to the sign. The place was as dead as the rest of the city, without a soul in sight.

As they changed back to their human forms, Draco redressed in the lee of a stairwell, and with an easy wave of his fingers, he opened a locked back door. Inside, they stepped cautiously and as quietly as possible, just in case, until they came to a nurse's station. Cornfoot found an emergency escape-route hospital diagram on the wall and called them over. "Looks like the On-Site Chemist's is here," Cornfoot pointed to a rectangular structure outside the hospital complex, just on the other side of a narrow alley separating the buildings. Stretton confirmed it as the place he'd broken into earlier that year. "Infectious Disease is here, though," he pointed to the largest, square building on the other side of the complex from them – the one that housed Emergency. Fortunately, it was right across the pavement from the Chemist's. "We might want to hit both locations and snoop around, just in case the medicine we need isn't at the Pharmacy."

"Should we split up?" Jeremy asked.

Draco quickly considered the pros versus the cons of breaking the team up and nodded. "Time isn't on our side, ghost town or not. This place doesn't feel right. It's almost…"

"Too easy?"

He nodded at Stretton's accurate assessment. "Almost like they hit it just to see if we'd come here for a supply raid."

"You said you'd thought they were hitting random cities. Maybe this was why – to get a bead on us," Cornfoot murmured, whistling very softly. "It might be paranoid, but better that than dead. We should get to it and get out of here pronto."

They agreed with a nod of heads. "Stretton, you hit the Pharmacy. Stephen and I will take Infectious Disease. We'll join you as soon as we finish the sweep up there, so stay put. If the worst happens, get out, but randomly jump so you don't lead them back to camp. We'll do the same. You're caught, you know what to do, both of you."

Grim-faced, they wished each other luck and split up.

Draco led the way, having an eidetic memory for maps and diagrams and a good sense of direction. The empty halls of the hospital were eerie. Several times, they had to cover their mouths and noses as they passed by a room where a patient had been left behind and died, or killed outright. Clearly, the place had been attacked not long ago judging by the fetid stench. They hurried on, eager to get to their destination.

At the area labeled 'Infectious Disease,' they stopped at the administration desk and searched every cabinet in every examination room and closet. They took what medicines and Muggle devices that might be necessary – at Stephen's suggestion. Syringes, gauze wraps, medical tape, face masks, tourniquets, eye wash, boxes of gloves, scissors, scalpels, little plastic cups, metal trays, something called a 'blood pressure reader,' another item referred to as a 'stethoscope,' and another that measured sugar in your blood (along with these boxes of 'test strips') all made their way into their Bags. When they finally made it to a room that had shelves full of medicines of all shapes and sizes, they knew they'd hit gold, filling their remaining six Bags of Holding with everything they could find – including the drugs Snape had indicated they'd needed to get.

Hurrying, they finished robbing the place blind in a little over an hour, and then looked again at the administration desk for an emergency map. Finding it, they tracked the best way out so that they'd end up near the Chemist's, and headed in that direction.

They headed towards the glass double door exit, when something inside Draco told him to stop. He'd heard a noise coming from the other side of the glass, and grabbed Stephen's arm so they froze on a Knut. Senses on high alert, he heard it again: the unmistakable sound of a spell hitting glass and shattering it. It was coming from outside.

"Shite, they're here," he growled. Shoving his Bags at Cornfoot, he took his wand firmly in hand. "Jump around three times before heading back to camp. I'll get Stretton."

"But-" his companion made to argue in favor of helping.

Draco shook his head. "Take the medicine straight away to Snape when you get to camp. He'll die without it. GO!" He shoved the guy in the arm, and watched as Stephen gave him a regretful look, raising his wand, preparing to turn on the spot.

"Good luck."

With that, he was gone.

Checking through the door, seeing no sign of movement, Draco slithered out and peeked around the corner of the building. There, between the main Emergency and the Pharmacy, there were two Death Eaters firing at, presumably, Jeremy Stretton. A green _Avada_ whirled past one of the black robed figures, narrowly missing him, and he returned the volley with a red _Stupefy_.

Taking aim, Draco fired off an _Avada_ and hit one of his enemies, who took the spell on the side of the head and unceremoniously crumpled to the ground without a sound. His lone partner noticed the attack from his peripheral vision and quickly turned to throw a spell at Draco, missing him by a long shot, but buying him the time to Disapparate with a crack of thunder, leaving his mate's body to rot in the middle of the paved alley.

Hurrying between the buildings, he heard more spells being fired off, and turned the corner in time to see Stretton get hit with first a red spell, and a second later, a blue light. He slumped against the wall of the building and slid to his arse with an animal cry, not knocked out as he should have been, but clearly in trouble. As Draco fired one _Avada_ after the other in quick succession, hitting both attackers and felling them, he realized that these guys hadn't been out to kill; they'd been trying to capture. Most likely, they'd been hoping whoever they caught would squeal the rebellion's secrets.

He rushed to Jeremy's side, noting a deep gash across his chest… and the man's red, Vampire eyes. Long canines had punched through his gums and blood leaked from his mouth as he hissed.

Gripping his wand tight, Draco made a fast decision: he _Petrified_ Stretton. "Sorry," he explained quickly, looking around for more of the enemy. Seeing none, he grabbed Jeremy around the waist and with a grunt and a pull of his muscles he managed to get the guy over his shoulder. "Hold on."

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (night)**_

With a turn and an extra exertion of his power, Draco took Stretton with him on a merry jaunt - jumping to five locations before heading back to Wicklow. It took nearly everything out of him to accomplish what he had, as Side-Along Apparition to one location was usually tiring, to two, exhausting. Five jumps in as many minutes had nearly stopped his heart. However, securing the safety of the camp's location, all the while hurrying to get Stretton back for some healing took precedence over his own health, so he'd pushed.

As soon as the two appeared at the edge of camp, however, his body made him pay for his stubbornness and he collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest, dropping Jeremy to the grass. Shaking, gasping for breath, he willed his heart to beat, smashing his fist over the spot. A second later, it resumed a rhythm, and his throat hitched from the pain.

In a whirl of light, Su appeared before them. "Jeremy!"

Noting both men were in trouble, she seemed torn as to which one to serve first. Draco shook his head as she reached for his arm, deciding he was the one most in trouble. "Can't… Apparate… so soon," he wheezed. "Get help."

With a nod, she grabbed the Petrified Stretton and took him back to camp with her. Several seconds later, she reappeared with Zabini and Theo both. Nott did a cursory exam, swore as his wand turned blue over the area of Draco's chest, and with the help of a _Mobilicorpus_, he swiftly took them to the Medical Tent, which they'd established after the Kirkwall attack when they'd first arrived here. Draco was laid back in a cot, given a slew of potions (shoved down his throat by Pansy, who'd given him the talking-to of his life all the while), and within half an hour, he was feeling close to normal again.

"So what happened?" Zabini finally asked.

When Draco finished telling their tale, the four exchanged grim looks, knowing what it meant for them.

"We're going to have to immediately find a new place to move the camp to," Draco decided, trying to sit up.

Theo pushed him back down. "Rest for now. It's still too dangerous for you to put any strain on your heart by walking around for a few hours. Just sleep." He grinned. "That last potion should be kicking in any time now, anyway."

Draco's brow furrowed in annoyance. They'd slipped him a…

He didn't even get to finish the thought as he fell into unconsciousness.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (night – minutes later)**_

Will sat beside a still-_Petrified_ Jeremy, running the healing spell over the wound, closing it. Su had brought him to his tent, by passing Medical, knowing there would be little they could do to help him. She sat on the other side of the cot, across from Will, Jeremy between them.

"So, I had an epiphany last night," he confessed while he cast _Diffindo_ upon his mate's soiled clothing, tearing it into shreds of fabric that could be easily removed so he could determine if there were cuts or damage in other areas. "It's about you and Jer."

The Vampiress was quiet next to him, holding onto Jeremy's hand and rubbing her fingertips over his skin in a soothing manner.

"I'm not going to fight this mating anymore," he finally said, removing a series of bruises from Stretton's hip and side. "I'm going to let it happen."

Red eyes stared into his with triumph.

"Oh," Su replied, her voice filled with disappointment and mournful resignation.

Determining that Jeremy's physical form was healed, Will put his wand down, reached out and clasped his big hand over both hers and Jeremy's. "I think we should become a triad of power. It'll make us all stronger, and no one gets hurt. Everyone wins."

Su looked up at him with those dark, expressive eyes and in them he saw hope and fear meld together.

"Do you-" Will asked, stopped and tried again. "I know we aren't close, and that we've hardly talked, but I _have_ noticed you, you know. I mean, you're… really stunning. How could a guy not see that? Besides, we both love _him_, and… you've helped him _so_ much. I know he deeply cares for you."

The witch shyly gazed at him. "You are suggesting that _we_ become mates as well – not just a binding between Jeremy and me. I thought you did not care for me."

He became aware of the thing inside of him – that queer presence that had been slowly awakening within him since the night Jeremy had marked him with the _Jouisseur_ – sit up in rapt attention and turn its full consideration upon the woman before him, nothing their clasped hands. Its appreciative gaze traveled the length of her body, using his eyes, noting the curve of her waist, and the jut of her hips. It stirred, curious.

Calling up the memory of the night before, it flashed the vision of her soft, trembling lips sliding over his wrist's pulse, of her throat convulsively swallowing as she took in his life's blood. It focused on that event, assessing it from all angles, determining its feelings on the matter.

The more he replayed that moment in the secret vaults of his mind, the more Will realized that something important had passed between he and Su in that sharing – a truce, an understanding, a mutual respect, and even the beginnings of a deeper attraction. It was a turning point in their relationship.

Absently, he touched her long, silky hair, gently pushing a strand back behind one of her ears. An awareness of her scent – something oriental and spicy – greeted his nose as he inhaled. She really was the physical ideal, wasn't she? With her perfect, porcelain features, her feminine grace, and a body that both enticed you to play it naughty and seemed too innocently lovely to ruin. "I get it now when they warned in books that Vampires are particularly alluring." His fingertips smoothed down her throat, just the barest touch, but a flare of desire sparked between them. "You're very beautiful, you know." His fingers continued trailing a path over her jumper, dipping into the middle of her throat, caressing the indent at the base very softly, dropping down between her cleavage. "I'd only been with girls before Jer. He's the only guy I want that way. But you… you're what I'm used to. You're majorly tempting. I admit I'm fascinated by his attraction to you, too."

She made no move to stop him as he let his fingers find and caress a nipple through her clothing. It went taut immediately under his touch and with a sultry moan Su arched her spine, pressing her breast into his hand. He grew erect in his jeans, painfully straining against the solid barrier of the buttonfly. "He was so hard last night when he took you. I saw everything. I was turned on by it," he confessed. "Not the violence, but that you both wanted it _so_ _much_. I've never actually watched two people shag. I mean… I've done it lots of times, but never watched it. Were you a virgin? I thought-"

She shook her head, her face turned fully towards his, her eyes reflecting a growing desire. She licked her lips and he tracked the movement, feeling heat simmer up his spine. "My body repairs itself after… every time. It is part of my natural healing."

"So, it'll happen again?" he asked, focusing on her ruby-colored bottom lip. He wanted to know what she tasted every time she nervously swiped her tongue over it – like just then. Had she fed from someone today? Would she taste like blood?

Her free hand came up and touched his cheek with tentative motion. "It always has before. But, I have never been mated. Perhaps it will change after."

Their eyes met, and Will felt that electric moment that comes when a man and woman become sexually aware of each other for the first time. He'd never felt it so powerfully before, however. "Have you kissed him yet?" It was obvious to both of them to whom he referred.

She lowered her lashes. "Three weeks ago, I requested a single kiss as repayment for the blood I had given him in our youth, during his transition. He gave it in obligation." Her fingers trailed over his jaw, feathering into his hair. "But his mind and heart called for you even as our lips came together." Her pretty brow furrowed. "I was so jealous, Willem. During our first kiss he thought only of you. How is it you hold him so completely, when it is my blood that has saved him time and again?"

Will ghosted his mouth over hers, knowing full well that Jeremy was watching and listening to every word, paralyzed and unable to change the outcome. That kind of control over him made Will even harder in his pants. "Because he's _mine_," he asserted aloud the thoughts that had been drifting through his mind for so long now. "_My_ mate."

Su's long, black lashes slid fully closed, and tears slipped from the corners of each eye. "I would give _anything_ for such a love." Her voice trembled, caught as the sorrowful weight of her unrequited feelings tore at her control.

Turning his head, Will looked down at Jeremy. The color of his friend's eyes had bled to normal as the Vampire within had retreated, giving up its fevered hold. Now only the color of an Irish meadow met his inquisitive gaze. He wondered at that even as he reached for his wand, which had rolled into the dip of his thigh, and waved it at Jeremy, freeing him with an easy _Finite Incantatum_. "Don't move yet, Jer," he warned, as his lover scooted his naked body into a sitting position. "You'll get your blood and sex later. Right now, I only wanna know: do you want the three of us to be together?"

Jeremy was shaking and the raw relief on his face was heart-wrenching. Tears fell from his sooty lashes to paint his pale cheeks. "Yes. Oh, _God_, yes."

Will considered him a moment more before turning back to Su. Running his hand up her throat and into her hair, he gently pulled her closer. "You've had your taste of her. It's my turn. This time, Jeremy, _you _get to watch."

Enthusiastically, his mate conceded, those odd cat-like eyes locked onto them as Jeremy pulled his legs in tailor-style and resigned himself to a round of voyeurism.

Sliding his lips over the Vampiress', Will took their first kiss with passion. If she was to be their shared mate so that they could build a strong power base to survive this war, he would have to come to accept her, and this was the only way. If he could physically love her, he could open his heart to her eventually.

Tonight, he would learn her mouth and her touch, feel the sting of her fangs at his throat, make her come and fill her with his seed. He would accept her _Jouisseur_, and let her love and mark Jeremy similarly so they could close the circle of their mating. After, he would make Jeremy his, as he had ached to do, and at last, the three of them would come together in every way, assuring their bond was unbreakable. None of them would ever suffer the pain of denied love ever again, and they would be a force to reckon with that even Mort would fear. What they did tonight would ensure it.

He glanced out of his peripheral vision at his first mate, sitting quietly at the head of the cot, and shared his resolve with Jeremy that this was their new future: the three of them united in purpose and feeling to the very end.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S END NOTES:**

I have decided to include a **_Chapter 24 ASIDE_** to detail the mating between **Will-Su-Jeremy**. It's already 1/3 done as of this update, and should be up on the site by next week/weekend at latest (barring any problems). It's getting it's own side story for much the same reason as Will-Jeremy's initial mating had: it's interesting and fun to write, but extraneous to the plot - nothing more than **FAN SERVICE**, really. You can read it if you want to or skip it and go on to Chapter 25 when it finally gets posted.

For the die-hard "Will-Jeremy Only" fans (I know from the reviews and PMs I get about this story that there is a sizable group amongst the story's readership): I apologize if throwing Su into the boys' mating in any way disappoints you, but to be fair, this was planned from the beginning. Su takes the place of Fay (who was initially Jeremy's prime candidate for the position of 'third' in their relationship, if you'll recall). And because of her innate nature, as well as her long years and experience, she's a calming, supportive presence for the tempestuous Will and the reckless Jeremy. She's also the sympathetic outsider; the girl most of us woman have been at one time or another (i.e. wanting someone _so much_ and hoping that someday he/she notices and reciprocates). Plus, she flat-out kicks arse. She will become an important member of the power structure for what's coming up in future chapters (you'll see!). I predict you will like her then, if you don't already. So, hang in there, even if you aren't happy with where these relationships had to be taken. You'll still have plenty of Will-Jeremy action to drool over - promise!

**"What's past is prologue" = Shakespearean quote from 'The Tempest' (Act 2, Scene 1) meaning that the past has set the stage for the _really_ interesting bits to come.**

**The bit about Moaning Myrtle and the exorcism – canon information. I didn't make that up.**

**Numero uno = Spanish for "number one."**

**Cack = British slang for "crap" or "shite".**

**Slummed = British slang for "living in shame".**

**Fannie = British slang for "pussy" or "wimp".**

**Did you know that Evanna Lynch (Luna Lovegood actress) went to Catholic school in Drogheda? Irony! :)**


	26. Ch 24 ASIDE: Ménage a Trois

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This chapter contains a **_**little**_** hint of the overarcing plot surrounding Willem's strange 'other', but not so much that you won't glean from chapter 25 (coming up) what's going on. If you want an advanced hint, however, read on.**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS VERY SEXUALLY GRAPHIC (to include heterosexual and homosexual sex in couples and ménage a trois action), CONTAINS STRONG PROFANITY, AND DEPICTS VAMPIRIC BLOOD-DRINKING AND BITING ACTION. **

**You've been forewarned!**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR ASIDE: Ménage a Trois**

_**The Wicklow Mountains (southeast Ireland)**_

_**Sunday, October 29, 2000 (night) to Monday, October 30, 2000 (morning)**_

With magic, Will expanded the cot and he and Su knelt at the foot of it within full view of Jeremy, gently taking those first, hesitant steps towards beginning a relationship together.

He kissed her for a long time, discovering her genuine desire with every taste, both taking and giving as their mouths melded, pulled apart, and came together again. To his surprise, she calmed his performance anxiety, slowing them down by lingering a little longer with each pass, teaching him the patience he needed to take things at a comfortable pace. She surrendered to him as willingly as he did to her, and he intuitively understood that her reasons were the same as his: they were both drawn to the piece of Jeremy that the other held deep within them – he as the man's best friend and lover, she as his kindred and trustworthy confidant - wanting to know that side of the man they shared a love for, and discovering each other in the process.

To his amazement, there was no rush, no fear, and no tearing guilt or doubt. This felt right. It felt _good_.

When Will removed her jumper and unlatched her bra, slipping the straps from her shoulders and tossing it away, he revealed her breasts. They were as beautiful as he'd anticipated – high, tight, small-ish with dusty rose-colored nipples. They tempted him and he moved on instinct, bending his head and taking them one at a time into his mouth, suckling with reverence, finding joy in this slow learning of her body.

Foreplay was a new thing for him. Sex had always been rushed when he'd been with a girl in the past, and he'd always felt inept in any action other than pounding away. Sheltered within the screen of high grasses at Kirkwall, Jeremy had begun his instruction in how to be a good lover; he'd taught him how to give proper attention to a man. Now, in a small tent at Wicklow, Su would teach him the technique for competently pleasuring a woman. He would learn all he ever needed to know about love and sex from his two Vampire mates. It was perfect.

He dropped his mental shields and opened his mind to Jeremy and let him hear his thoughts. His mate smiled through tears of joy. _This is all I could have ever wanted for us, Will. _

"More," Su pleaded, her fingers threading through his hair as she arched into his greedy lips and rasping tongue, and she gasped with pleasure. As he lathed each tiny bud, flicking it, feeling the tautness in each ripe nipple, her deep, husky moans filled the tent, stirring up the heat in his blood until it rioted into a maelstrom of need. He laid her back into the cot, following her down, his seal upon her breast firm as he gently bit down and left an imprint of his teeth around her areola. The Vampiress hissed with approval as he soothed the sting with light caresses, then he bent to similarly mark the other side to match. That done, he trailed his lips over the delicate bones of her collar, up her throat, bit over the spot he knew Jeremy had taken blood from the night before. The wound had healed over, but from her shiver and moan, he knew it to be still sensitive.

Throughout it all, that 'other' within Will's consciousness watched the proceedings from behind his eyes, the pressure of its presence there but no longer painful. It was as if he and the thing he shared his body with were finally coming together – as if the two halves of his soul were no longer fighting, but beginning to resonate with Will's capitulation to the mating. It learned alongside him as he sampled every inch of Su's skin, and even purred in acceptance when he slowly removed her trainers and jeans to bare her to his view. When her knickers were taken down and her untamed thatch revealed, the 'it' inside intently stared, noting each wiry, jet black hair as it lay curled about her lower lips. Will's heart tripled in speed, and his mouth began to salivate as he considered what he wanted to do to her. Clearly, his golden-eyed 'friend' had no objections to those ideas, and in fact, seemed eager to put them all into play knowing that Will had decided upon making Su his as well. He felt its mental nudge to get on with it already.

He glanced sideways at Jeremy, noting that his first mate was thoroughly enchanted by the scene unfolding before him; his cock was a fully-erect, jutting rod between his crossed legs. He made no move to satiate his need, however, too enamored of watching his best friends find pleasure in each other.

_Watch me make her mine, _Will commanded his male lover as he bent his head between Su's thighs and licked with pressure straight up the seam of her silken pussy. Her supple legs shook as she cried out and arched her spine with bliss. "Oooh, yes, Willem! Know me," she begged, and the second lick was softer, tentative, ghosting over her wet flesh in a barely-there caress. The third was a bolder, broad sweeping taste across the whole of her labia, and the fourth, a little grazing contact outlining her clit, using only the tip of his tongue. With each diving lap into her slick, creamy entrance, he inextricably addicted himself to Su's flavor and scent, even as he learned how to orally pleasure his female.

At her coaxing, he gently pierced her with a finger, rhythmically teasing in and out of the hot, slick depths of her cunt while kissing and suckling upon her small, pink clitoris. Carefully, he teased the upper lip on the inside, where the flesh was textured, and Su shuddered, loudly moaning and tightening up about him. "Yes, there! Don't stop," she pleaded, her fingernails scraping through his hair and against his scalp, causing little sparks of desire to shoot down his spine. He rubbed the special spot in circles, teased it with the tip of his nail, and crooked his finger over it, varying pressures and speeds as he determined what best excited her.

Very soon, her hips began a small rocking motion that matched the cadence of his fingering, and her lower muscles tightened around him. Her moans grew louder. Skimming his free hand up her satiny body, he blindly reached and found a breast, and pinched the nipple. Su gasped, her muscles of her vagina throbbed around him as, and with a cry of his name, she plunged over the edge of rapture and came for him. Will stilled with his finger in her, feeling her clench and ripple. He broke out in a sweat; need arced like electricity through his body, centering on his arousal.

Feeling particularly proud that he'd mastered this skill and brought his new lover pleasure, he slowly withdrew his hand once her tremors ceased and shakily gripped his cock, rubbing her release up and down the painfully hard shaft. Licking her slightly quivering pussy, he drank up her dewy, sweet essence, cleaning her even as he kept himself on the edge, hard and straining.

Looking up the line of her curvy, lightly perspiring body, noting the flush of her blood through her breasts, up her neck and into her pale cheeks, Will met Su's dark gaze. "Mate me tonight," he requested with a final kiss to her clit, crawling up and over her to hover his mouth over her own. "I want you to give me your _Jouisseur_," he murmured against her plump, red lips, stroking his fingers over her belly, sliding up her ribs to cup her breast and gently pinch the nipple again.

Su's eyes flared and her small body trembled. "But Jeremy-'

He silenced her counter by dropping his mouth to hers, twining their tongues around in a writhing dance, pulling back only when she'd relaxed into the kiss. "If both of you share the same mate, you should be able to mate each other," he explained the theory that had been knocking around inside his head all day.

The half-Vampiress' dark gaze widened with understanding. "Splitting you with Jeremy will allow me to mark _him_ afterwards as mine? Do you truly believe that our auras will then harmonize together, closing the mating circle and bonding the three of us together?"

Running his fingers over her soft skin, he nodded and lowered his hips to hers until their naked bellies touched and his rigid, straining erection pressed into her flesh. "Yeah, I think it will work. It sounds like it should. Do you want to take the chance, though?"

Her throat convulsed on a nervous swallow. "Yes. It is worth any risk to have Jeremy for my mate. And I will have you, as well, whom he loves as no other. It is an excellent solution." Her soft fingertips stroked over the pulse of his neck where Jeremy had bit him almost two months ago. "Do _you_ truly wish me to bite and mate you, though? If this fails, your bond to Jeremy may sever completely and you will be mine instead. I am an Eastern Vampire. The ties that will bind us will be different, possibly even more invasive than Western Vampire bonding. I am not sure of the outcome."

Will glided a hand down her side and around, gripping her arse and pulling her up to angle his penis between her smooth, moist folds as he leaned all his weight on the other palm. "I decided last night that I'd do whatever it takes to keep him. And I'll get you at the same time if it goes right, so yeah, I want this." He glanced over at Jeremy, noting the lust in his lover's eyes. "Do _you_ want this?"

His mate's breath came out in heavy pants, and it was clear he was so turned on by what he was seeing that there would be no doubt as to his answer. He spoke his desires to both of them. "Yes. Fuck her. Mate him."

Su's head had turned as well, and she focused on the man she loved. "For us."

He nodded to her. "Enjoy him." Focusing on Will again, he smiled. "Make her yours."

Given permission, Will turned all his attention on the willing female beneath him, aware as she reached between them and lined up his shaft with her opening, that there would be absolutely no going back from this point on. They'd all agreed to take this step and to accept the consequences. It was all or nothing now – win or bust, as his Jeremy would say.

**X~X**

With a tilt of his hips and a bit of applied pressure, Will slowly penetrated Su's slick, tight sheath, inching through the soused layers of flesh. It hurt – _oh, did it_ _hurt!_ He was so thick and hard, and although he moved with care, he opened her up and stretched her out with his considerable girth, filling her to the point of pain. Biting her bottom lip, she slid her arms about his broad, firm shoulders, reaching up in a silent plea to be held.

The truth was that she was terrified of what they were doing. Not from this physical act, for she had been in The Madam's House for almost two years and been forced many times to allow a man to touch her. No, it was the emotional investment. Under Phaedra's roof, she had been able to divorce her mind from the feelings that came with the sexual act. This time, however, there was a connection – a strong one with Jeremy, and a tentative one for Will that she knew would only grow if she allowed it. Once the three of them became as one flesh, heart and mind, she would become the one thing her father had tried to instill within her never to be: truly vulnerable. Her lovers would know all her darkest fears and memories. Her long life would be laid out before them for their interrogation. There would be no hiding from them _ever_.

Her gathered courage could not stop the whimper that escaped her lips as she tried to accept how utterly exposed she would become. She, the stealer of men's secrets would lose all of hers in one night. The irony was not lost upon her.

_Hold me close_, she begged Willem, using their connection from her blood-drinking to establish mental contact with him again, as she had last night.

Shifting and dropping his weight to his elbow, he cradled her to his chest with one arm, while the other pulled her bottom up into him to provide the perfect angle for him to gently thrust. That action caused her hymen to tear as he slid deeper into her, and Su gasped into his neck from the sharp pain, digging her nails into his shoulders.

"Shhh, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear, stilling a moment to give her time to adjust. "I've got you."

They held completely still for a few heartbeats before he continued his slow slide deeper into her channel. Sealing their pelvises together, buried within her to the hilt, he finally stopped. "Okay?"

In the curve of his throat, she nodded. Through the thin layer of skin over his pulse, she could feel and hear his blood pumping out an accelerated rhythm. It enticed her, making her gums hot and achy. Her _Vampirius_ was startled awake by the lure. Behind her eyes, she felt its interest as it threw off its lethargy and focused on the temptation offered.

When he began to move, carefully easing out of her only to glide back in with long, complete strokes, Su's blood stirred. The pain subsided as lust enflamed her senses. "_Yes_," she hissed against his ear as he groaned into her hair and tightened his grip on her buttocks, pulling her even higher to meet his incrementally increasing thrusts. "Deeper," she begged, wanting to feel every bit of him come into her again and again. He obeyed, his pace maintaining even as he angled them to assure her maximum pleasure by plunging every luscious inch of his cock into her.

His breath blasted across her shoulder as he pounded into her with a beautiful grace she hadn't realized him capable of giving, and his hips flexed and snapped with each surge. "Su," he growled against her ear. "It feels too good. I'm going to come really soon. Mate me - _now_."

His provocative words flared across her senses, causing her body to tighten up and prepare to go over, jarring the Vampire in her _fully_ awake.

_Baeuja_, it sighed in pleasure, recognizing Will's new place in her life as both 'mate' and 'spouse' – and instinctively knowing what must happen next to make such a connection permanent. Prompting the mating aphrodisiac to spill through the glands in her mouth, the chemical saturated her tongue with its tangy flavor. In turn, her canines were triggered to come down.

Nuzzling Will's pulse to find the perfect spot, with a quick strike, she punctured his skin through to the vein, latching on and going deep. As she greedily drunk up her lover's thick, hot, sweet blood, she simultaneously swept her tongue over and around her teeth, saturating the area with her unique aphrodisiac - for the first time giving someone her _Jouisseur_. With magic and blood and sex, she bound Will to her for always, feeling her aura realign to his, sensing the mark of another Vampire upon the man she'd claimed. To her immense relief, her shifting magical energies simply incorporated Jeremy's mating claim as part of Will's natural aura, just as Bradley had hypothesized.

Against her, Will shuddered, gave a loud moan and increased his pace, slamming into her as the fire within his veins boiled over. Within seconds, it flared between them, destroying whatever tentative control the two of them had managed to hold onto. "God, _yes!_" he shouted as he felt her _Jouisseur_ take a hold of him. He pounded into her, unintentionally forcing her to close the wound at his throat with a swipe of her tongue and to remove her teeth from his person before she accidentally tore his flesh. He actually whined with each exhaled breath from the ecstasy he was experiencing as he drove them over the edge together. "Su… come! Let go!" he begged against her lips as he pressed his forehead to hers.

The combination of his addicting blood, of taking a mate finally, of having her body hum and vibrate with a pleasure she'd never _dreamed_ she'd experience as the mating took a firm hold of her, too, brought her in a blinding shower of light and feeling. "Willem!" she screamed and clung to him as her orgasm slammed through her in a cyclonic rush, turning her soul inside out. She burst into tears at its intense beauty, even as it filled her with a joy and peace that was unmatched by any experience she'd ever known.

Vaguely, she was aware of Will's matching cry and a warm, flooding rush between her legs as her mate came into her, of his hips pumping with fervor even after the first flowing release, letting up only when he'd thoroughly sated himself. She tasted his mouth as it claimed hers again, and felt their rapid breaths and pounding hearts synching up as they floated down from Heaven together. She embraced his comforting presence in her mind and soul, and tugged experimentally on the magical chain that now connected their hearts to assure its hold…

…and unintentionally discovered her lover's secret - the reason Jeremy's Vampire had been on edge for so many weeks, changing its very nature.

Willem Bradley was not fully human.

A powerful, foreign presence within his mind reached out and mentally touched her, seemingly as curious of her as she was of it, and she knew in the moment of their first magical caress that this was something separate – and powerful - that shared its life with Will, just as her Vampire did with her and Jeremy's did with him. What it was, however, she did not know. She had never encountered anything like it in all her long years. It seemed strangely familiar, but not quite enough for her to make any solid connections with what she knew.

Opening her eyes, she glanced up at her mate. Looming over her, Will stared back. His irises were no longer the blue of the sky. Instead, they were golden and shimmered like molten metal with the shifting shadows.

Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry mouth, she sucked in a sharp breath and shakily let it out. "What… are you?"

Ever so softly, Will brushed the tears from her cheeks and threw her a peculiar, questioning look. "Yours," he murmured. "Aren't I?"

Hesitantly, Su nodded, watchful and weary. "Yes, you are mine, but that is not-"

Before she could finish, Jeremy cut her off, noting the change in their mate as well. "Will?" He shifted, sitting up in concern and the cot was jarred by his weight.

The blond blinked, and in that moment, the color bled back to normal. He glanced up and over to focus on the man they both loved.

Against her inner thigh, she felt Willem's softening length harden to steel once more. He licked his lips twice before stretching and holding out his hand. "Come here," he bid Jeremy in a low, seductive tone. "Come to us."

As if drawn by the promise in Will's lust-filled eyes, Jeremy crawled down the cot towards them. Hesitantly, he reached up and linked fingers with his lover, and a shudder and sigh of relief relaxed his shoulders. Without releasing his grip, Will sat up on his knees, gathering Su in his free arm and pulling her up with him. He tugged Jeremy closer until they were crowded together.

"Kiss me," he whispered and leaned his head towards his _cheotsarang_ – his first love.

Su watched with greedy desire as her new mate very cautiously met Jeremy's mouth with his own trembling lips. It was the softest, most loving kiss she'd ever seen two people share. It was beautiful and filled with so much longing and relief.

When they pulled back, Will stared with earnest need into Jeremy's face. "You have to mate each other now. Then we can all be together." He guided their entwined hands towards her, allowing them to break apart just as they touched her arm. Placing the flat of Jeremy's palm upon her skin, he directed his male lover to take Su into his arms. "Enjoy him," Will encouraged her as she shifted off his lap and into the embrace of the man she'd waited years to have. "Make her yours," he whispered to Jeremy and pressed a quick kiss on both of their cheeks.

With that, her mate let her go, sitting back and taking his turn as voyeur.

Behind her breast, Su's heart picked up its paces and she felt her face flush as her eyes met those spring-green depths she had fallen into so many times before. Jeremy shyly smiled at her, and she returned the gesture. He seated her across the width of his thighs, and pulled her in tight, resting his taut, damp length against her belly.

"I'll go first, if you want," he offered, and it was clear he meant the order in which they would drink from each other, sharing the _Jouisseur_.

She eagerly nodded. To feel his bite again, coupled with his aphrodisiac this time… Her belly and thighs quaked with excitement for what was to come, and within her heart, she rejoiced: here was her dream come true.

**X~X**

Jeremy's nostrils lightly flared as he inhaled, scenting the heady, combined essences of his two lovers perfuming the air. It was light, sweet jasmine and fresh rain - and wholly seductive, pulling him in, pulling him under until he was drowning in it. An uncontrollable rumble of approval and need escaped his chest and his mouth watered. Upon his tongue, he tasted the sweet tang of aphrodisiac. The bonding between Su and Will had worked, and now his body recognized and responded to her as it would to his mate. He would be able to give her his _Jouisseur_.

With a tender swipe, he moved Su's long, soft hair over her shoulder, baring her lily white throat. Tracing over the skin with light caresses, he stroked over the spots he'd bitten the night before, knowing the areas would be extra sensitive. "Jeremy," she sighed with longing, arching into him. The taut points of her nipples rasped against his chest, causing a throbbing ache to begin between his legs. His cock was a length of firm steel, swollen impossibly hard with his need. With a rhythmic tilting of his hips, it slid between her soft, wet folds, not entering her yet, just clipping her engorged clit. She shuddered in his arms.

He bent his head to kiss her red, swollen lips, tasting the sweet-coppery flavor of Will's blood lingering upon them. "Su," he whispered in longing as their tongues met, stroked, briefly entwined. "You're so beautiful - so amazing. That you're doing this for us… binding yourself to us…"

"I would give you all, Jeremy. I love you," she sighed against his lips, her arms wrapping about him and throwing herself into the kiss. "Claim me as yours, _baeuja_ – mate."

Tilting her head, he moved over her throat, finding his spot, feeling his canines elongate. The split gums bled, but healed quickly with a swipe of his tongue over them. Lapping over the area on her neck, he tasted the aphrodisiac already flooding his mouth and struck, pressing hard into the wound and licking and sucking, swallowing, giving her the mate mark even as his shaft thrust up into her slick, creamy pussy.

Tossing her face to the sky, Su cried out and dug her nails into his upper arms. The slight pain electrified his pleasure all the more, sending his senses reeling as his cock flexed through her tightly clenching channel until it could go no further. Buried deep within her, Jeremy stilled to enjoy the sensation of the _Jouisseur_ flowing from his mouth into her.

Within seconds, the hot flush that accompanied his aura attuning to hers sped through his body, stimulating every nerve, causing flashes of color to dance behind his closed eyelids. As had happened when he'd marked Will, the wall of his mental defenses fell, and he was completely open and vulnerable to Su. It was in that moment that she marked him back, biting deep, pressing her _Jouisseur_ upon him.

Fire and ice travelled the length of his spine, centering in his loins, making him incredibly sensitive. His dick burned for completion, causing him to whimper and shake with the desire. As the completed mating took hold, the vaults of his heart opened easily before his lover's mysterious powers, and the secrets of his life were completely exposed for Su.

His Vampire, clearly uncomfortable with being so open and defenseless, mentally rose up from the depths of his mind, baring fangs. Her Vampire – the fine nuances of its magic puzzlingly strange to Jeremy, but feeling similar enough to recognize as Kindred - met his head-on. It was a clash of angry, greedy desire between them as they 'touched' and took what they could from the other, learning the differences between them. Like two animals locked in combat, they held tight and looked for a weakness to exploit.

In an unexpected move, Su's bestial side unexpectedly gave up, submitting to his _Vampirius' _greater strength. Just as it had the day they'd first met at Kirkwall, his vile disease immediately lost its aggression, pleased with its conquest. It even purred with delight inside his head.

_Ourssssss_, it hissed, magically nuzzling her Vampire.

_Yours_, she reassured it, surprising Jeremy by directly speaking to the monster in his head. To prove her intentions, she licked the wound in his throat closed, but continued to offer up her own life's blood without restriction for him and his Vampire to take as they pleased. In that moment, he understood the depth of her feelings for him: he could literally drain her – kill her – if he wished, and she would not stop him. That, it seemed, was enough proof of her intention for his _Vampirius_ of her commitment to them, and it slipped back into the recesses of Jeremy's mind, watching and enjoying the mating without further interference.

With the end of combat, the desire to ride her hard slammed back into him. Releasing his mouth's lock upon her neck, Jeremy only had mind to assure that the punctures his teeth had made were magically sealed, lathing across them with quick caresses of his tongue, not wanting to tear her skin accidentally. When that was done, all gentleness was gone.

Gripping her hips and using the strength gifted to him by his half-Vampire heritage, he lifted her with a simple pull of his biceps and shoulders and then surged up into her at the same time as dropping her back down, establishing a wild rhythm guaranteed to bring her screaming. He fucked into her with power, cutting loose, knowing she could take what he had to give. Her pussy stretched tight around him, and it was such a snug fit, he couldn't fathom how Will could have fit, given his size.

That thought alone brought him to the brink quicker than anticipated. The idea that Will's semen was lingering there, inside Su's beautiful body right then and mixing with his own pre-come, that it coated his dick from tip to base along with her sweet essence, and that he would become one with the both of them in this way… He groaned as lightning-hot flares of pleasure licked up and down the length of his penis, centering within his testicles and tightening them, making him sweat.

Su held on, thrusting back against him, urging him on with husky, mewling cries. "Love, Jeremy, make me yours! Never let me go!"

He drove his erection deep, pounding harder, faster. "You _are_ mine," he growled as he pumped incredibly harder, the raw, carnal sound of their wet flesh coming together filling his ears, ratcheting up his desire to heights of passion he'd only ever known once – in Will's arms. Her cunt wrapped around him, sucked him in as it tightened with impending orgasm. "You and Will are both mine, forever."

"_YES!_" she screamed as she tumbled over the edge of sanity. Her climax was so strong that it pulled him right along with it, causing him to spill his seed in a series of powerful eruptions deep inside her. Shaking from the intensity, Jeremy moaned and bit down again over the mate mark he'd given her as he ejaculated into her warm depths, drinking her blood down at the same time.

He wasn't even consciously aware of moving, but when his lids peeked open, Su was on her back, pressed into the blankets and he loomed over her, continuing to pulse residual, hot blasts of semen into her. When he was drained, they both lay boneless, exhausted and sticky with sweat. It required Will's assistance to move Jeremy out and off of their mate before he crushed her with his weight. Within moments, Su was fast asleep, worn out from the two matings.

Lying within Will's arms, Jeremy could feel the bond between he and his two lovers like a golden chain that magically attached their hearts to his. For the first time in his life, he felt complete.

"Not yet," Will informed him, reading his thoughts now that no barriers existed between the three of them. With a pull of those burly arms, his lover scooted Jeremy up until the man's mouth lay poised over the side of his neck – the side not marked. His blond lover pressed a kiss upon the unmarred flesh. "My turn," he whispered in his ear.

To his utter amazement, Jeremy's softening penis rallied and his heart picked up its paces.

With little effort, Willem flipped him onto his back at the end of the cot and took control of their love making, much more confidant with acting upon what he wanted this time around. On hands and knees, he leaned over him, the tip of his large, hanging cock stroking against Jeremy's. The sight made his mouth water as he imagined taking that huge, wet length into his mouth again.

"Later," his lover informed him, reading his thoughts. He lowered his lips, claiming a kiss. As earlier, it was more loving than lustful - which was perfect as far as Jeremy was concerned. This, more than the sex, was what he'd craved from Will for so long anyway. Being touched with love was what he'd missed and wanted… _needed_.

As Will dropped his weight to his elbows, Jeremy's arms came around his shoulders, his fingers thrusting into that blond, silky hair and holding on tight. Their matching groans vibrated along the soft flesh of their feasting lips. Their tongues tangled, danced, pulled apart. His lover swept through the parted, moist channel of his mouth, both demanding and giving at the same time.

Tears of joy prickled the backs of Jeremy's closed eyelids, and the months of yearning for this man – years, actually – caught up with him. With a hitching breath, he wrapped his thighs around Will's, cradling him so close that their chests pressed, and their hearts fell into synch.

_I love you._

His eyes flew open at the same moment Will's did, and they locked onto each other. Had they actually said that together, at the very same time?

"Now tell me the rest of what I want to hear," his blond lover demanded, his voice low and uncharacteristically growly.

Reaching up to feather his fingertips over Will's lips, Jeremy opened his mouth and poured out his soul. "I'm _so_ sorry that I hurt you by not trusting you when I mated you the first time," he whispered the apology, trying to be considerate of Su's need for rest as well. "And I'm sorry I took your choices away from you then, as well as when we were children, back in school. I know there is no excuse to justify what I did, but I hope you can understand. I was scared both times that you would reject me if you knew in advance who I was and what I'd planned, and I was too selfish to take a risk on the truth scaring you away. I acted badly. I made the wrong choices. I promise I'll never do anything like that to you again."

Will's face softened with forgiveness as he dipped his head and softly bit Jeremy's bottom lip. "No, you won't."

Muttering a quiet incantation, his lover summoned his wand to his hand from where it had dropped onto the pile of clothing on the floor. It came to him effortlessly. "What's the charm for making this easier… for you?" he asked, a slightly blush tinting his cheeks.

It took Jeremy a second to realize what his mate wanted. "Oh," he smiled, and gripping Will's wand, he simply summoned what he needed from the depths of his personal Bag of Holding across the room. The plastic bottle of Durex lubricant – swiped from a Boots on a supply raid a few months back – came to his hand. He passed it to Will. "Here."

Dropping his wand back onto the tent floor, Will took the hand-off and opened the bottle. He paused, sniffed it, and a slow grin worked his face as he chuckled under his breath. _Cherry-scented?_ he threw the amused thought at him as he slathered his hand with the clear liquid.

Jeremy snickered and shrugged one shoulder. _There's pina colada in there, too, if you want that instead._

Their amusement both faded as Will lowered his hand and gripped his penis, moaning as he polished it with the lube. His face flushed with heat and he closed his eyes in enjoyment as he stroked the silky wetness several times from tip to base, causing Jeremy's cock to go painfully solid. Lying completely still, watching the show was an amazing turn-on. His lover's crown was engorged with blood, red with need as Will fisted it. His bollocks hung like a stallion's, full, heavy and beautifully round. Tight, golden curls framed the area, and Jeremy was tempted to run his fingers through the hair.

"Do it," Will murmured, biting his bottom lip.

Reaching out, Jeremy touched his lover as he wanted, feeling every inch of the pelvis, the hips, encircling the base and stroking up and down with Will, and finally gripping and rolling his sac. Gasps and moans followed his contact, heating him up, boiling his blood. He wanted to feel this thing inside him with a need that made his teeth clench.

_Put some on me_, he instructed, and guided Will's hand back to the bottle for another dollop. His mate complied, lathering up Jeremy's cock, his balls, and the entire length of his arse. By the time he was nice and slippery, ready to be taken, Will had set the lubricant aside and gripped his stiff length in hand, moving towards their union. Jeremy widened his legs and tilted his hips up, meeting the cap of his lover's cock.

"Ready?" he asked Will, one hand gripping the man's upper arm, the other thumbing over his bottom lip, tracing the indents of Will's teeth where the man had bitten down too hard. Curiously, he noted that his lover's canines were sharp. He hadn't noticed that before.

Will lowered his head and kissed him, and there was nervousness in his touch, but definite resolution in his breath. "Let me know if I hurt you," he whispered.

With that, Jeremy relaxed, allowing his mate to make love to him – finally.

**X~X**

Will pushed his hips forward, keeping a firm hold on his shaft to assure a smooth first entrance. There was no denying the small bit of fear of the unknown that gripped him. He'd _been_ taken, and he'd dreamed of doing this with Jeremy, but having never been in the dominant position, and the reality was actually quite a daunting place to be. He wanted to do this perfect, worried of hurting his lover because of his size and inexperience. Christ, it was like he was a virgin all over again, shagging for the first time.

His crown pierced the tight ring of muscle and it took some pressure to move through it. God, the ringed texture felt amazing against the very sensitive underside of his cock as the flesh parted for him with some resistance. He shoved harder, felt his wide, dripping crest bury itself an inch, then two. Thank Merlin for the lube and his weeping pre-come, as the two combined made it easier to tunnel through.

Jeremy groaned in bliss and tilted his hips back a fraction of an inch more. Will closed his eyes, paused. This was too good, and he was so close to losing all control. He rocked back a bit, then forward some more, burying another two inches, moving through the tightest flesh he'd ever felt. "Oh, God," he gasped, throwing his head back on his shoulders and pausing again. "It's… _amazing._"

Under him, his lover was watching with those cat-like eyes of his, and clearly trying to mute his pleasure behind firmly closed lips. He made no moves to disrupt Will, allowing him the full experience of taking a man for the first time.

It was heaven and magic combined when he went another inch, then two. Sweat dripped down his brow and covered him with a light sheen of perspiration. The amount of concentration it took not to simply give in to the drive and fuck as hard and deep and fast as his body demanded was incredible - more taxing than anything he'd done previously. Drawing back all the way, he slowly slid back in, pushing further this time until he was buried all the way to the hilt.

He was in. Jeremy was stretched open under him, filled with his cock – _claimed_. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and lowered his forehead to his mate's. They stared at each other for long seconds, realizing they'd just crossed the final line. There would never be any going back now, especially since Will understood finally how good this felt – to be sunken deep into Jeremy, connecting their bodies and minds and hearts up in the most intimate way possible. He knew he'd crave this feeling for the rest of his life; knew he'd never get enough of it. He'd want to take his first mate – the mate of his heart – at every opportunity now. Sure, being with Su had been wonderful, but this… this was Fate at its most magnificent.

A sweet smile drew across Jer's cheeks. _So romantic_, he teased_._

Will blushed. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched his lover's rouged cheek, his fingertips smoothing over the light stubble. "Do you need any more blood?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Need? No. Want?" His lips twitched. "I will always want you – any part you're willing to offer, so long as it doesn't hurt you. Do you want my bite again?"

Will shivered with the memory of those teeth piercing his flesh over such an erotic spot. "Yes," he heard himself murmur as he turned his head, baring his throat. "Bite me again."

Already, the _Jouisseur_ was rousing in him, beginning to beat through his natural reserve, changing him into more animal than man. It was strange how similar, and yet how different Su's aphrodisiac was from Jeremy's. He could almost taste and smell the differences on his tongue: Su's was subtle, tasting and smelling of a spring rain and heady jasmine flower – a very feminine feel, while Jeremy's was whiplash hot, dark, spicy – masculine to the core. They elicited different sensations in him, and yet they both were resident within his body, existing simultaneously in his veins. He wasn't sure why they hadn't combined, but he was grateful for the differences, for they dragged from him very divergent needs and desires, and he enjoyed the variation.

Jeremy's fangs pressed into his flesh, going deep, reaffirming his previously staked declaration upon Will with a swipe of his aphrodisiac-laden tongue across the wounds. The sharp pain of being pierced gave way almost immediately to a rush of carnal lust that caused him to unconsciously move his hips. With a loud cry of joy, Will began thrusting, while his lover's hold on his neck tightened to prevent him from tearing the wound open. He set a rhythm that rocked the cot with its intensity – a wholly instinctual pace. He surged forward, withdrew, fucked harder on the return, enjoying the feeling of being squeezed and suckled by Jeremy's contracting muscles, of the rippling flesh stroking the head of his cock.

This felt so _right_.

The fire consumed him within seconds, and he was unable to control the modulation of his voice as he gasped and cried out with the ecstasy. "I love you," he grit as his uncontrollable orgasm burned through his shaft, preparing to spill over. Wrapping his arms around Jeremy's shoulders, he pulled his mate in tight. "God, I _love_ you, Jeremy! I need you! Please, _please!_"

Removing his mouth and sealing the punctures over his throat, Jeremy's wet lips touched his ear. "_Fuck,_ I love you, too! Come with me, my Will."

His hips rocked forward one last time and he did as ordered, exploding his seed into the depths of Jeremy's body with a hoarse scream that shook the very foundations of his soul. His whole body spasmed, ignited, and behind his eyes, he saw brilliant gold. "_MINE!_" he proclaimed to Heaven as that other half within, the part that had silently watched and waited for _this exact moment_, crowed with triumph. "You are mine, mate!" it snarled in exultation, using his voice.

They stayed, locked together like that even as they both grew flaccid and the semen that Jeremy had ejaculated onto his stomach at the same time that Will had found his release chilled and grew sticky between them. Holding tight, both refused to let go of the other, their bond finally completed, their love for each other validated and strengthened from their long-awaited coupling.

To his surprised pleasure, Su's fingers ran soothingly over Will's back as he lay too exhausted to move. It was her, this time, who gently assured his weight met the cot to one side, so as not to crush their shared mate. Spooning in against Jeremy's back, keeping him between them, he felt her fling an arm over them both, her fingertips resting on Will's hip. "Now we are truly one," she tiredly sighed, a smile in her husky voice. "I am happy for all of us."

Will lazily opened his tired lids. Jeremy was snuggled into his chest, eyes closed with fatigue and contentment. Across the man's shoulder, Su stared back at him, her dark eyes assessing. A small smile graced her lips.

_I believe I know your secret now_, she whispered to him within the vaults of his mind, touching very gently against the 'other' within him. _Will you not reveal yourself to him?_

The thing inside of Will stared at her through his eyes, considered her offer. _Soon,_ it answered, and with that, it exerted its pressure upon him, forcing him into sleep.

**X~X**

Su remained awake for long while after her two mates found their rest, watching over them, touching them each gently, lovingly as she learned the curves and angles of their bodies.

Her body was _very_ sore, as it was not regenerating as it previously had. She had truly lost her virginity this time – to Will, of all people. There was no regret in that choice, however, for he had been considerate and gentle with her. She adored Jeremy, but she also understood that his love making style was the rougher of the two men, and so giving her 'cherry' – as the youth called it today – up to Willem had actually been a better choice, regardless of his greater size.

The thought of the sex she had enjoyed with both men made her shiver again with the remembered pleasure. It had been a glorious experience, filled with so much deep feeling. Never in all her many years, with her dozens and dozens of partners, had she known such exquisite rapture!

Of course, she was no rose-blinded fool either, understanding as she took in the vision of Jeremy and Will embraced in sleep that she was the superfluous member in this ménage a trois. The love the two wizards had for each other was greater than their feelings towards her - and always would be. There was no way to fight the nature of their bond. She accepted that she was merely a means to ease the way for all of them, to give the two men what they most desired someday: a future with children. Yes, her Vampire 'gifts' were different from Jeremy's, and she brought something very unique to his and Will's banquet table that would only empower them both over time, but it was her biologic propensity that was the true draw, although neither man truly recognized that truth now. They would, though, in the years to come, after the war ended and she allowed them all to consider the possibility.

For now, she accepted her place. Being the concubine in this 'marriage' was more than she could have ever hoped for in her life, honestly. Jeremy loved her as much as he was able; this she knew from their mating and as they had merged minds. Willem would come around, as his heart was an honest one, open and desperate for love and acceptance. His 'other'… she was less concerned with its motives, now that she understood exactly what it was, knowing it would never cause Jeremy – and by proxy her – harm in any way. It was a protector, and it would give its life to assure the safety of its mate and its second lover.

Yes, what they had done here tonight was _good_, and it would only get better with time.

Cuddling into Jeremy's back, she laid her head down in the cot, slipped a leg between his two, and wrapped her arm about him, stretching to include Will in that touch. Assuring contact with every inch of warm skin, she closed her eyes and slept with her two mates, a smile upon her lips.

For the first time in seven long decades, she did not dream of being frightened and alone.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Baeuja = Korean Romanization for "mate/spouse" (****배우자****)**

**Cheot****sa****rang = Korean Romanization for "first love" (****첫사****랑****)**


	27. Ch 25: Bound By Fate

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: BOUND BY FATE**

**_En route to Blessington, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (just past midnight)_**

Just past the very small community of Corkeraugh, Hermione and Cormac had been forced to stop for a bit to figure out the problem of a rather large plowed, empty field before them. The ground was too muddy to trek through, so they'd traveled past it by moving east before cutting south again, avoiding the few sporadic houses and structures off in the far distance. They were in open country, mostly, so they stayed on high alert, Cormac keeping his nose to the ground while his eyes and ears targeted the horizon. Hermione watched the sky, but in the dark of night, it was near impossible to see those inky black trails that might have signaled Death Eater movement.

The further south they went, the more they began to run into small towns, and even a sizable city called Clane to the east. They were forced to go around such areas several times, staying off the roads, as Cormac scented people – refugees – huddled in make-shift camps or in houses.

Finally, on the outskirts of the city Naas, they stopped so she could consult her map again under the huddled darkness of their cloaks.

"We should go east to avoid Naas," she stated, pointing at the indicated direction she wanted to take. "There are fewer towns in that direction. Then we can stop in Eadestown for a quick break, and follow the edge of the R410 to Blessington." She started folding up her map, feeling her heart quicken in its paces. "We'll be a stone's throw from Wicklow before dawn, and could find the camp by the evening if we keep a good speed."

Cormac gripped her wrist to stop her as she extinguished her wand with a softly-spoken, "_Nox_."

"Once we cross into the National Park, the hills will be very steep, and there are several mud plains we'll have to go around. Higher up, there will probably be snow," he cautioned. "We take it slow and careful, or we could find ourselves sinking into a winter bog or buried under snow. I don't fancy injury or death."

It was quiet between them in the dark shelter of their cloaks, and Hermione couldn't see her companion's face, but she could guess as to what she'd see if the lights were on. "You're stalling me. Why?"

As he exhaled a sigh, Cormac's hot breath tickled past her neck. "I promised to protect you – even from your own rash action. You're close to your goal, and naturally enthusiastic, but that's when people are known to let their guard down and make a mistake. Don't throw away caution now."

Reining in her temper required her to take a deep breath and let it out slow. Rationally, he was right; she knew he was. But her heart pounded with the need to get back to Draco. Some intuition within told her that it had to be soon, for a reason she couldn't fathom. She quelled it for the moment to give her travel partner a chance to speak his piece. "What do you suggest?"

"We stop in Blessington and ask about the status of Dublin," he recommended. "We find out if the Park's been compromised, or if anyone left in the town has seen strangers about – your friends. Surely, someone from the camp had to have gone there for news of the outside world. It would be stupid of them to completely isolate themselves. We find out if Death Eaters or Trackers have been there, so you can bring information back to your people."

It was a good plan – a smart plan.

And it grated on Hermione's lingering Gryffindor instinct to just charge on through and be reunited with her loved ones.

Logic, however, won out. "Alright, we'll do it your way," she conceded. Tapping her wand against his throat in an inferred warning, she made her position clear, however. "But if you try to stop me from reaching Draco when the time is right, Cor, I won't forgive you."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Drop the wand a second," he requested.

She hesitated, trying to figure his angle and whether she should trust him or not.

His cold fingers slid over her cheek – a gentle caress. Panic set in, but his words were soothing, his tone and demeanor unthreatening. "I won't hurt you," he whispered. "But I need to give you something important - something that will protect you."

Her heart pounded in her chest. "Cor…"

"Let me do this, to keep you safe. Just in case."

Silencing the screaming protest in her head, she took a deep breath and trusted him once more.

His forehead lightly pressed to hers. "Thank you." His free hand held the tip of his wand to her lips, and when it spoke, it was no louder than before, although there was a heavy weight in his words which rang out in her ears. "Hear me Lares and Manes: I Vow on my blood, on my magic, and on my soul this night that I, Cormac Ryan McLaggen, am devoted in life and death to Hermione Granger." His voice was anguished – the tone of a man who felt his doom lie heavily upon his soul, and knew his time was running out. It made something deep in Hermione's center ache. "_Pro eis quos amo jacturam faciam_. So I do swear."

His wand dropped away and his other hand moved from her person. There was the sound of a knife leaving a sheath, a 'snick' as it moved, and then his thumb pressed against her bottom lip, rubbing back and forth. "_Devotio,"_ he invoked the ancient rite.

Before she could jerk away, recognizing what he'd done, his lips heatedly captured hers and magic tingled through every nerve in her body as his Wizard's Oath – sealed with the blood he kissed into her mouth - bound him and his promise to her.

Within the vaults of her mind, Hermione recalled the details of this spell from the research she'd conducted during her fifth year, once she'd finally accepted Harry's word that Voldemort had been resurrected: it was old, forgotten magic from the time of Rome's glory, an offering of a sacrifice of one's life for another, often used by Generals when war wasn't going in their favor as a way to save their armies, and to take out the enemy at the same time. It was the exact same spell Harry's mother had used upon him as a baby to save his life.

Lily Potter's life in exchange for Harry's and now Cormac McLaggen's for hers.

Hot tears rolled from her eyes, damping her cheeks.

"I'm yours," he murmured, pulling back. "To the end."

How she _sobbed_ with remorse and sadness then. "Why did you do this? You've traded… I… Cor, I can't love you like you want, even though you've done this! My heart is already given."

"I know." He laid his cheek upon the top of her head and sighed, tightening his hold around her. "But this way, I can love you like _I _want."

It took them half an hour of silence and shared tears before either could compose themselves. As they awkwardly moved apart and stood, and Cormac shed his clothing to transfigure his form again, Hermione brushed aside the proof of her sorrow from her face, and looked off towards the southeast. Somewhere out there was Draco, and hopefully, after they'd gotten to Blessington and gotten all they needed to know from the town, they could find him. Perhaps even later tonight!

Wolf-Cormac padded to her side and sat on his haunches next to her, Bag of Holding about his neck with all his possessions tucked inside. Reaching out, she stroked her fingers over his head, feeling the soft fur against her fingertips.

One misstep, and he was going to die for her. God, it was practically inevitable, wasn't it? Eventually, someone in this blasted war would cast an _Avada_ her way that she wouldn't see in time…

"Thank you," she offered, swallowing back a second round of tears. "This makes us even now."

He dropped his head and waited for her to move before padding to the front and taking point, his keen ears, eyes and nose on full-alert.

**X~~~~~X**

**_The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (just past one o'clock in the morning)_**

Phil curled in on his side in the bed, his self-hatred having reached an all-time high. It had been bad enough watching Adrian being raped and doing nothing that day in the courtyard, but then he'd left his friend in the cell below to continue to be punished in such a manner so his cover wouldn't be blown. There was enough guilt and remorse there to follow him for years. But yesterday's events… they would haunt him on his death bed. He was on the fast track to Hell.

Behind him, Ginny curled her small, bruised body into him. "I'll say it again: it wasn't your fault. I knew this might happen when I took this assignment. I told you that already."

Inside, he felt so empty that the hollowness actually hurt. "I raped you. I let those men watch. How is this not my fault?"

Her arm came over his waist, grabbed his hand and tucked them together, entwined, over his black heart. "You had no choice. Our cover could have been blown. We can't let that happen before we get the Cloak and you have the chance to poison the whole lot of them now that they're coming in for tomorrow night's revel. You did what was necessary to convince Flint and his goon brigade that I was your private spoil of war. I don't blame you. I blame them – all of _them_."

"I _hurt _you."

"It was necessary," she insisted. "If they'd seen you consider me as more than just your toy for temporary amusement, they'd have killed us both – especially if Flint had made me, like you had the first time you saw me up close. As you said, the freckles give me away." She stretched up and kissed the side of his neck. "Philip, you didn't rape me."

His chest caved. "I held you down by the throat," he forced the words through clenched teeth. "I ripped your clothes. I let them hold your arms out and grope your breasts while… while I brutally fucked you on that table, Ginny." He was howling now with self-loathing and revulsion as he turned his face into the pillow with shame. "How could I have done that to you? It was evil – _EVIL!_"

"And I hissed in your ear for you to do it to me," she countered. "It was part of the act we have to keep up, just until we can make them all pay." Sitting up on her elbow, she leaned over him and stroked his hair with gentle fingers. "Phil, we _need _to get the Cloak, and it _has_ to be tonight, before more of them arrive. So, I need you to be strong. You need to put this behind us, and focus on what has to happen next. Help me. Help Adrian. Help the other prisoners here." She kissed his cheek. "We'll make them all pay for everything they've done. I promise."

As she'd talked, Phil's respect and admiration for this slip of a girl grew until his heart nearly burst from it. She was so forgiving, so emotionally strong! He flipped onto his back and reached for her, bringing her face to his. "I need you to forgive me. I need to hear you say the words."

Earnest, whisky-colored eyes held his, and her tone was stern. "I forgive you. Now get your arse up and help me get to the second floor girl's loo."

He reverently kissed her, letting his fingers slide through her silky hair. This girl was amazing - so courageous. Her heart was pure gold. No wonder she'd been sorted into Gryffindor.

"Alright," he resolved, exhaling in a rush, compartmentalizing his feelings for now to get the job done. Later, there would be plenty of time to serve out his punishment. "Let's finish your mission, and set mine into motion. But when we're through here and there's a private moment, I'll make everything up to you, freckles. In any way you want."

Little Ginny Weasley gave him a smile that could sauté and serve-up sin. "Hold you to that," she vowed.

Twenty minutes later, they were armed and out the door, their 'game faces' firmly in place. Phil's features were stone and he gripped her upper arm, as if he were directing her somewhere, while his fierce witch adopted a submissive pose, keeping her eyes on the floor. They passed only one Snatcher, who greeted Phil with a nudge of his chin and a grunt, and then they were down the stairs and in the second floor corridor.

The girl's loo was located straight down the hall, near the end. He hurried with his 'prisoner' in that direction, not wanting to come across either of the Carrow twins, who had taken the former D.A.D.A. professor's office as their own private, shared quarters. They passed the opening on the left that led down to the Carrow's new residence, and continued straight, up a small three-step interval.

Stopping at the girl's loo door, he looked back over his shoulder, and then down the rest of the corridor ahead. No one was in sight. They'd been lucky. He pushed open Myrtle's door and headed in, careful to close the door behind without noise.

The room was pitch black. Phil called forth a muted "_Lumos_" and then immediately cast for privacy over the entirety of the room – covering for both sight and sound – to assure they wouldn't be seen or heard from anyone passing by outside. He further locked the main door and strengthened it with a Barricading spell he's picked up from Blaise Zabini. That would buy them time to Disillusion themselves or fight their way out should someone try to get in.

He looked about, noting the candles in sconces on the walls (rather than in chandeliers, as they were elsewhere throughout the castle) and nonverbally lit them with an absent wave. They didn't provide a lot of light, but it was enough for him to extinguish his wand.

Ginny disentangled from him and stepped cautiously around, checking in each wooden cubicle to make sure they were alone. She nodded to him to indicate that all was clear. "Myrtle?" she called out. "Are you here?"

The echoing drip of the ever-leaking faucets in the sink was the only indication of movement. Phil approached the cracked and spotted mirror above the copper taps on the back wall. "I heard that the Chamber of Secrets could be gotten into from here," he murmured to his partner, feeling the faucets for that tell-tale snake symbol Granger had mentioned.

Ginny threw him a wide-eyed look. "Who told you that?"

"The Captain," he explained. "One night, maybe a few weeks after the Final Battle at Hogwarts, when we were cold and huddled around a small fire and our morale was flagging, she told us the real story of what had happened the year that people were getting petrified and rumors ran around that the Heir of Slytherin had stepped forward. Back then, there were only the seven of us: me, Granger, Longbottom, Finnegan, Brown, Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley. She gave us all hope with her crazy tales of the trouble she'd found with Potter and your brother back at school. I think that's when we all knew that she was our leader – our hope." His fingers danced over the small carving of a snake on the side of one particular tap and he grinned. "Found the entrance mechanism! Now if we only knew Parseltongue, we could get in."

"Terribly inconvenient if you don't, though, isn't it?"

Phil whirled around and looked up to find Moaning Myrtle hovering near the ceiling, staring down at him with amusement.

Ginny stepped forward. "Thank Merlin you're still here, Myrtle!"

The ghost swung her arms out wide. "Well, where else would you suggest I go?" She zoomed down so fast that she was almost impossible to track. "I'm stuck here for eternity no thanks to the Ministry's meddling exorcism!" she shrieked in Phil's face, causing him to hastily back up and nearly fall into one of the sinks.

As if she'd never acted irrationally, she giggled and floated about in an out of the wooden stalls. "I remember you," she glanced at Ginny as she roamed. "Harry Potter brought you here, just before he was taken by You-Know-Who. I've guessed why you've come, you know." She tittered with laughter. "You want the thing he left behind, don't you?" She ducked into the last compartment – the one labeled with a faded OUT OF ORDER sign.

His girlfriend – Did Ginny consider herself so? He knew he _wanted_ her to – sighed. "Yes, Myrtle. I did come here with Harry that time, and yes, that's _exactly_ why I'm here. I want the Cloak."

The specter appeared through the wall at Philip's left, her head hanging out of the mirror. "Then you know what I need from you before I'll agree to show you where it's hidden. Go on; show me - _if_ you are who you say you are." Her voice became fiendishly delighted there at the end, and she grinned in challenge.

As Phil inched away from the creepy dead girl, he crossed to his companion's side. She was already lifting her clothing off her abdomen and pulling down her jeans to her thighs. Peeling aside her knickers to reveal the top of her bikini line, she touched her wand to the area of flat skin just above her pelvis, on the left side, and spoke the charm for revealing. "_Helio Revelio_."

"Sparkly," Phil stated, surprised as the glittery sun tattoo appeared on the spot directly below her wand tip.

"Inked in a combo of dragon's blood with finely ground-up chimaera's tail scale - Severus Snape's personal recipe," he informed him. "Hurt like a son of a bitch to get. Every original Order member has one in the same spot."

"Yes, that's _definitely_ the correct sign," Myrtle agreed, sounding a bit disappointed.

Just for shites and giggles, Phil asked the obvious question. "And what would you have done if it hadn't been the correct sign?"

Myrtle zipped back through the wall, only to reappear a moment later coming up through the floor right in front of them. She gave him a flat, serpentine smile as she slowly floated upwards. "Pushed my hand into your chest and frozen your heart solid."

He blinked twice at that, shocked by her words. "But I thought ghosts couldn't touch the living."

She screeched with laughter and threw her hands into the air. "Stupid boy! I'm an _exorcised_ ghost – a wraith!"

"And that means what, exactly?" Ginny asked, reaching for Phil's hand and clasping it tight. It was sweaty and hot, he noticed, indicating her nervousness.

Myrtle looked at her as if she were a complete ninny. "I see History of Magic wasn't your strong suit." The former Ravenclaw sighed, dropped her arms and began lecturing in a mordant tone that could rival Severus' mocking on a good day. "A wraith is a ghost tied through an exorcism to one haunting ground for the rest of eternity, never to pass the Veil to find rest. It is, quite literally, a lost and damned soul, bound by the magic of Chaos to continually suffer the living. I am one of only a few in the world." She sniffed with displeasure. "And as I said, I'm stuck here thanks to the Ministry, who conducted an exorcism on me more than fifty years ago. I can float around the castle wherever I please, but I can't actually touch anything outside of this room." Her eyes narrowed with shrewd light, and her tight-lipped smile returned. "However, once someone passes through those doors and enters this room – my haunt," she indicated the way into the girl's loo with a nod of her head, "well, they're fair game, aren't they?" She held her hands up at them, palms facing out while wiggling her fingers, and tossed them a maniacal grin that contained entirely too many teeth. "When that happens, if I concentrate hard enough, I can freeze them on a knut."

"But you touched Harry that time I was here," Ginny protested. "Nothing happened to him."

She floated closer, half of her body still embedded in the stone floor, passing through the solid matter with the same ease as walking on air. Such a sight was disconcerting, to say the least. "I told you, I have to exert my will to actually want to cause harm. Besides, I rather liked Harry. I always fancied us being together once he died… but it looks like that won't happen now."

Without warning, she threw her face forward – straight into Ginny's abdomen. Phil had to bite back the girly scream that he almost let out at such a grotesque sight. A second later, Myrtle freed her spectral form from his girlfriend's gut and floated backwards again. "Well, you're definitely a true female," the ghost declared with some smarminess. "Nevertheless," she stated, flying up towards the ceiling and pointing down at them, "you still have to prove you're worthy of the treasure."

"How?" Phil asked.

She giggled. "You have to say the magic words, of course!"

Gods, had she been this annoying in real life? No wonder someone had off'd her.

Ginny sighed and looked towards the sinks. "I got this," she murmured to him, a furrow of concentration in her brow. She opened her mouth… and spoke Parseltongue.

The tap that Phil had located earlier gave off a blinding white light and the copper faucet began spinning. The sink dropped, revealing a dark, hollow entrance – what looked to be one of those Muggle water slides, only it was dripping with green slime and the stench coming up from below was awful. He covered his nose with his robes, breathing through his mouth. "God!" he gasped. "What is that?"

"Rotting Basilisk," Myrtle confirmed for them, looking quite amused with their discomfort. "Of course, _I _can't smell a thing, but I've seen it, and I can tell you that the carcass is extremely gooey now, with grey flesh hanging off rat-gnawed bones. It's positively vile!" She seemed very excited about that little fact, leaning her head into the dark opening, her voice echoing back at them. "Well, come on then," she offered, waving them into the pipe. "Down you go!"

Myrtle took the lead and disappeared into the pitch black of the pipe.

Ginny looked at him.

"How did you manage that?" he asked, implying her use of the snake language.

Dark whiskey eyes tilted downwards with sadness. "Harry taught it to me the same night he brought me here, and made me memorize it just for this purpose."

"Then how do you know what you said?" he asked, curious.

Her lips twitched and her face eased a bit. "I don't. For all I know, I just ordered a cheese sandwich."

Phil huffed with amusement. His Ginny was definitely pure gold. "Well, ladies first," he challenged her with a mocking bow, indicating the open maw of the tunnel before him.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Pussy," she teased and approached the entrance. At her first step, she let out a squeal, slipped and fell on her arse, and was swept down the pipe, her red hair flailing behind her. Her scream echoed behind her as she whooshed out of sight.

"Pussy I may be," he called after her with a grin, "but at least now I know that first step is a doozy! Thanks, freckles!"

Taking a deep breath, Phil tried hard not to notice the noxious scent pervading the room from the beyond, and leaped into the pipe after his girlfriend. "Down the hatch!" he called out with a whoop, using a Jeremy-ism, and was sucked into the darkness.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (one hour before dawn)_**

Neville lay quietly in his bunk, spooning his fiancée, one arm under Penny's shoulders, the other caressing her cheek, trying to soothe her back into a deep sleep. She'd woken him twenty minutes ago with her whimpering, and by the way she clutched at her abdomen, he knew it was morning sickness disturbing her rest, pulling her from the depths of her dreams.

Her body shivered as his fingers trailed over her throat, across her shoulder, down her arm, to rest above her abdomen. Rubbing in gentle, slow circles, he attempted to calm the nausea that was creeping through her. "Shhh," he whispered in her ear, angel soft. "Sleep, my beautiful Penny."

An hour passed in this manner, him cradling her and keeping her warm, staving off the inevitable for a little while. To his amazement it worked – until she actually woke up.

As soon as her eyes snapped open, she rolled out of the cot in a flash, grabbed the ceramic pot that she'd designated for this specific purpose the day before, and promptly vomited. Neville slid behind her, holding her hair off her face, rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry," he sighed with a bit of guilt. "If it helps, I'd trade places."

Shakily, Penny laughed. "Maybe that's our answer – _you_ can carry the baby to term."

Neville kissed her cheek. "Wrong plumbing, love. But, in all seriousness," he cleared his throat and muscled on, "you should know that I've thought about it, and I'd be willing to do whatever it would take to insure our child was born. I'll… Pen… I'll give Toia what she wants, if you agree to the deal."

They'd talked to the ladies in camp over the last two days, asking for advice or aid, and had been disheartened by the responses. It seemed no one wanted to dare being pregnant in the middle of a war, in the dead of winter, while living in a military-styled camp – especially as escaping to America seemed impossible with Mort's armies in full-force and on high alert. So, to say they'd been surprised when Relia Toia, the quieter of the two Romanian girls, approached them last night and offer them her surrogate services - for a price – well, that was the understatement of the year. This was the first he'd dared bring it up, though, as Penny had left that talk with her hackles up and her jealousy burning a trail in her wake.

His fiancée stiffened under his touch, and he could feel her anger flare. With a trembling hand, she reached for her wand on the small chest next to their shared bunk and Vanished the contents of her sick-up with a wave, _Scourgify_-ing the pot at the same time. Then, she cast a Refreshment Charm upon her mouth, to cleanse it. That done, she stood up and moved about the tent with purpose, putting the pot aside and getting a fresh change of clothing from the drawers.

Neville watched her, wary, unsure, until the lack of response frayed his nerves. "Penny?"

"No."

Pulling a pair of dark grey jeans over her hips, she hurried buttoned them over her still-flat stomach, and then hurriedly strap on her bra. Her face was a mask of barely-controlled anxiety.

"We should talk about it," he insisted. "If there's a chance – no matter the price-"

Infuriated, she whirled on him. "Not this price!" she shouted, tears filling her eyes. "You getting her up the duff so she can have a baby of her own at the same time? _And_ she's a virgin!" Her face was crimson with anger. "Just for that alone, I hate her."

"But-" he tried, but she cut him off again.

"And how exactly is it going to work, anyway, since I'm about five weeks pregnant now? Either our child will be born later, or hers early – putting them both at risk." She paced back and forth, ticking issues off on her fingers. "And how will we know which of the two babies is yours and mine, since they'll have _the same father_? And don't get me started on her wanting to actually risk the run to America, despite Mort's increased activity of late - with _our_ baby in her womb! If she gets caught, that's the end of our dream."

Neville had expected these arguments – had spent the early morning hour when she'd been asleep and he awake actually mulling over how best to address her concerns. "I've considered all of that," he very calmly stated, thinking that brutal honesty was the only way to reach her stubborn heart. "And I still believe it's worth the chance. You can't carry to term, none of the other women in camp are willing to surrogate, and the only other option is abortion, which I don't want to consider. This might be our one and only shot at having a child together given the odds against us, Penny. It's either that, or you leave immediately for America and try to find a woman there to surrogate."

Penelope's head snapped up and a vehement denial passed her lips. "And leave you here alone, to fight? Leave without knowing whether the Captain is alive or not? No, _never!_"

He crossed to her and took her hands. "Then we should take Toia's offer as soon as possible and send her off with Fay and Charlie when they leave next month for California. It's the best chance we'll get."

Her beautiful aquamarine eyes filled with tears and she began shaking. "You'll… have to… make love to her."

He firmly shook his head, cupping her cheek and forcing her to meet his gaze. "You're the only one I'll ever do that with. You're the one I love - the woman of my heart." To prove it to her, he took her back to bed and made love to her twice, his body primed for her in ways it could never be for another. He told her how beautiful she was, how much his body craved to be inside her all the time, and how she owned his soul.

As they lay in the sweaty afters, her cheek tucked against his heart and his arms about her, he kissed her forehead. "We're getting married tomorrow. Let's just focus on that for now, yeah?"

Penny's hot tears splashed upon his skin, and Neville felt helpless to stop her sorrow. If only there was another way! The thought of touching another woman… he wasn't sure he could make himself do it.

"Mrs. Penelope Longbottom," she whispered with a shuddering sob. "_I'll _be your wife - no one else. No matter what, you'll always be _mine._"

"I will," he murmured, wrapping his legs about hers, entwining them. "I'm yours, my beautiful Penny. Forever and ever."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (dawn)_**

Rubbing her belly to calm her morning sickness, Fay's gaze turned to the horizon, and she stretched her senses out as far as she could. Katie Bell was on sentry duty to the left of the lake, and Terry Boot was on the right. Far, far out in front - who was that? She struggled, pushed at her abilities, trying to expand her powers. Ah, it was Anna Mirfield and… was that Orla Quirke? What were they-?

She blushed realizing what she was sensing through her innate abilities as a Sex-Witch and quickly pulled her attention away. "Oh, dear," she mumbled. Truthfully, she had no problem with what the two women were doing, but they were supposed to be on guard duty and it bothered her that they weren't taking that charge more seriously.

Charlie's comforting aura smoothed up beside her, warming her in the cool, morning air. Fingers stretched out, he took her hand and pressed his palm to hers. His eyes were narrowed as he assessed the perimeter, and when he grinned, she knew that he'd discovered Anna and Orla's secret, too.

"Well, well," he purred with lust and angled his body into hers. "Seems I'm not the only one with ideas of enjoying sunrise sex."

Fay rolled her eyes and pressed her form into his, instantly wet with desire for her wizard. "Do you have plans for today, my lover?"

His lips pressed over her pulse and he lightly bit down. "Aside from shagging you until you're exhausted?" he joked.

Her fingers slipped through his long, red hair. "Any official duties, I meant," she sighed with pleasure as he continued attacking her neck.

He nodded, but never paused in his attentions. "I'm going with Neville to Blessington to pick up some supplies for our wedding tomorrow. Is there anything you want?"

She hummed as his fingers massaged her bottom, pulling her intimately into the cradle of his pelvis and up against his raging hard erection. "Morag has offered to bake a cake for all four of us if you can get the ingredients. Penelope and I discussed it the other day, and we both want chocolate with white frosting. You know what to look for?"

"Make a list for me," he offered, picking her up and hauling her back into their tent, laying her back into their shared cot. "later."

They didn't emerge from their private world until sometime after eleven.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Blessington, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (eight A.M.)_**

Hermione crouched down in the brush just out of sight of the main drag of Blessington, watching Muggles moving about down the narrow, straight street to start their day. There didn't seem to be any Death Eater presence to mire down the mood of the people, who wished 'g'morning' to their passing neighbors as they opened shops and swept front entries of debris.

"What do you think?" she asked her silent companion, who sat on his haunches next to her, panting. He blinked, lifted his head and sniffed, and tilted his ears forward. With a low whine, he dipped his head, indicating that it seemed reasonably safe for them to look about. "Right, then go change," she nodded over her shoulder and Cormac dropped behind her.

His magic tingled along her senses as he Transfigured his form back to human, and again, she fought off the compulsion to offer him her arse on all fours. When would this annoying animal need to mate go away? It was frustrating and irritating at once.

A rustling of fabric and three minutes later, he crouched at her side, fully clothed and back to normal. He reached into his Bag and pulled out a bottle. "Hold this." He handed it to her, and rifled around in his bottomless container for some small vials. The two of the vials contained single strands of hair. "This is from that female Death Eater recruit I touched a few weeks back to determine if I could feel anything through the Mark. I got it off her shoulder," he stated, holding up the vial with the long, blonde strand. "And this is from the house we left last night. I found it in a hairbrush that had been left behind in the bathroom." He shook both vials to indicate she needed to give them attention. "Pour the Polyjuice into each," he instructed.

Recognizing the foul stench of this particular brew from her many uses of it in the past, Hermione tipped the bottle he'd given her and carefully measured out enough to top off each vial in Cormac's hands. She then re-stoppered the bottle and took from him the vial that had contained the blonde hair. "Well, here's to the spy business," she toasted, and he tapped her vial with his own. They both tossed back the contents at the same time, and moaned in disgust at the taste.

Within seconds, Hermione felt her skin bubble and her body magically reshape. She glanced over at Cormac – and found a dark haired man of middle-age and average height looking back at her. "Not a good look for you," she smirked at him.

His eyes appraised her and he grinned. "Yours is nice, though."

She looked down, noting the small, waif-like frame. She'd lost some weight and had shrunk an inch or two, she determined by the slouching hem of her jeans at her feet. Her boobs felt much smaller, too. "No need to magic our clothes. Just roll them up. We'll look like everyone else that way." She glanced over her shoulder back towards the main street. "A lot of them are wearing clothing that doesn't fit. Probably scrounged whatever they could."

"I'll go first," he offered. "I'll head to the pubs to ferret out information as I can. You try the general stores. We'll meet back here in two hours. This potion was altered to last that long."

She nodded, and he snuck around behind her and off down the line of bushes, stepping out at the end of them as if he were just another pedestrian. She headed up the line in the opposite direction, and waited a minute more before stepping out and casually strolling down the main causeway towards her destination.

As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she passed by stripped automobiles and trucks that were parked at the curb. They remained in their parking slots where they'd last been left on that fateful day that Mort's magical EMP blanketed the air above the country, inoperative and silent – skeletal remembrances of the world before.

Looking about, it was clear that in the two years since Mort's enforced isolationism of these islands, the community had resorted to pre-industrial methods of trading goods and services to get its needs met. Like in England, paper currency was no longer accepted for trade, and coin currency was only as good as the metal it was stamped upon. Passing by a former Insurance Agent's office (_Nugent's _according to the crossed-off sign above the door), she noticed that it had been converted, and that the room through the window had tables laid out with fabrics, leather, and what looked to be sewing supplies. Next to it, a former fashion store, _Glitter_, had a sign in the window that offered clothing, shoes, bedding, towels, and rugs for trade – "will make U a good deal 4 hand-cut turf or coal" it said.

As she approached McGreal's Pharmacy next, she spied a few carts parked outside its front door, drawn by goats and horses. The owner of the caravan was helping the store manager to carry in boxed and canned goods – probably stolen merchandise from the plethora of abandoned houses, as he appeared a rather seedy character. She was betting there were no High Reeves in this part of the country to enforce their laws regarding theft and resale of goods, and the townspeople were certainly not going to ask where the things came from, so long as they weren't taken from their own houses.

"Morning to ya," she offered to the owner, trying for an Irish lilt to her voice, remembering Seamus' speech pattern.

He looked at her, huffing as he carried in a large box. "Mornin' stranger."

Ah, so he'd made her out as not being a regular. She'd expected that. "I'm headin' east ta find me family in Dublin." She followed behind him into the store. "Jus' stopped ta pick up some supplies. Have ya seen any travelers passin' thru?"

He stared long and hard at her, wiping his sweaty brow. "Some, but most are headin' west, away from Dublin, not towards it. Whatcha want ta go ta that godforsaken place fer, girly?"

She frowned, concerned by his words. "Ha' somethin' happened?"

He barked a laugh. "Have ya not heard? Tha' wizard went through with his army nigh on a for'night ago, killing any who'd not bend a knee ta him and let 'emselves be marked wit' his evil sign." He crossed himself. "If ya family was there, me dear, they're already ta God's side, or iffin they live, they'll be forced ta turn ya in if ya not marked. Best ta give 'em up fer dead either way."

"Tha' wizard – has him or his people been this way?" she asked.

The man crossed himself again. "No as far as I canna tell, thankin' th' Lord. I seen no' o' those black trails in th' sky overhead. I'm thinkin' we're too small ta notice 'round here."

"Me brother, maybe ya seen him, tho'," she persisted, holding a hand up to the height that Draco would stand. "About this here tall, with white-blond locks and grey eyes. Scar o' this side." She made a slashing motion from the center of her forehead down over her life eye and cheek.

He frowned and shook his head. "Not seen anyone like that. Tho' I did see a tall an' burly fella with blond hair back some days. He was wit' an Oriental. A lass. Late at night, as I was leavin' the pub, I seen 'em coming outta th' alley down th' way."

An Asian woman? A big blond man? Did he perhaps mean Willem Bradley and Su Li?

"The man could be me other brother," she lied. "Didja see which way they might have go'?"

He shrugged, heading back outside to pick up another load. Hermione kept up, hoping for any clues. As he reached for another box from the back of the cart, he absently waved off towards the south. "Ach, I'm no' sure. Maybe tha' way. I had a wee nip tha' night, ya know? What supplies ya be needing and whatcha got fo' trade?"

When he wasn't looking, she reached into her Bag and summoned two bottles of liquor. "How's these?" she asked, plunking them down on the counter with a grin.

The man stared at the Devil's drink and licked his lips. "Ya, tha's a good place ta start."

Two hours later, she'd gotten all she could out of the store owner, traded away the stolen whiskey and vodka for a detailed map of the Wicklow Mountains, two chocolate bars, and some out of date (but still edible) boxed pretzels. She then visited the two adjoining stores, asking many of the same questions and traded some of the towels and cotton sheets she'd fished from the last house she'd stayed in for two pairs of woolen socks, a hand-knit scarf, and two pairs of women's knickers. When her time was up, she headed back to the rendezvous.

As she passed by the front glass window of the former Insurance Agents, she happened to glance at her reflection… and stopped cold.

She was staring back at Astoria Greengrass.

Touching her face, she tried to make sense of how this could be. Cormac had said he'd gotten the blonde hair that he'd used in the Polyjuice potion she'd drank from a Death Eater recruit. Astoria had such coloring.

_Oh. God._

She rushed back to the agreed meeting point and waited on pins and needles for her companion to round the bend. As he squatted down next to her behind the bush to await the transformation back to normal, she grabbed his arm. "Are you positive that the hair you got for this face," she pointed to her own, "came from a Death Eater? Be absolutely sure."

He thought about it for a second and then nodded. "Yes, I remember her. She gave me a cruel smirk and said I was lucky she didn't have me whipped for such insolence as to dare touch her."

Hermione shut her eyes, her chest caving in. "Oh God, no." Her breath caught in her lungs, and she started to hyperventilate.

"Jesus, Granger, calm down," Cormac hissed a whisper, trying to get her to be quiet so they wouldn't be seen. "Slow your breath, calm." He reached out and steadied her as she put her head between her legs and took in deep gulps of air.

It took several minutes for her to regain her composure before she could answer McLaggen's nagging questions as to why she'd flipped out. "Because this girl," she pointed to herself again even as the Polyjuice began to wear off, "is one of mine. It means she was captured and converted."

Cormac said nothing, but his eyes – bleeding from hazel back to his natural tawny-brown - held sympathy.

Fuck her six ways from Sunday, Astoria was now the enemy. Malfoy's baby was in terrible danger.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (eleven A.M.)_**

Draco finished his breakfast in the main pavilion, and went to check on Severus. Theo was already at his father's side when he entered Snape's tent. They traded nods in greeting.

"How is he?" he asked his friend, staring down at the unconscious, waxy pallor of his former Potions Master.

Nott shrugged. "Cornfoot turned over the medicines as soon as he'd gotten back to camp, and Severus told us what to do to administer them. He took a combination of potions and pills, too." He indicated a series of bottles and vials on the work table across from the man's cot. "I have no idea what these medicines do, but at least his fever seems to be down and he's been getting some good sleep. Only the occasional cough."

"He said yesterday that we'd all been infected and that we'd need to take the medicines, too."

Theo nodded. "Yeah, but I have no idea of the cocktail he mixed. We'll have to wait for him to wake up."

Draco considered that. "We might need to move the camp very soon. I'm not sure whether Cornfoot or I were followed, no matter how many jumps we made to escape a tail."

Nott shook his head. "He's too fragile to move right now." He looked up over his shoulder at Draco. "If you have to go, at least ward the tent for us so we'll have a fighting chance."

Draco wasn't surprised by his friend's unwillingness to leave his sire and mentor's side. He put a hand on his friend's arm. "We'll wait as long as we can. In the meantime, we'll decide on a new location and double up the wards over the entire camp. And if we have to jump without you, I'll come back." He looked down at the man who had been a surrogate father to him in so many ways since he'd been a small child. "I'm not losing you, too."

Theo ran a hand over his face and through his hair, pushing the fringe from his eyes. "Any sign of Granger at all?"

His heart spasmed and he pursed his lips, shaking his head once. "I'm heading back out today."

His friend grabbed his hand quite suddenly and squeezed. "The hell you are!" he hissed in anger. "Your heart was severely strained yesterday from all the Side-Along Apparition. You need to rest, or you'll drop over." He snorted with disgust. "We can't afford the loss of you, especially with Granger and my father out of the picture, so just go lie down for the day and stop causing me to worry so much."

Draco's lips twitched with his amusement at his friend's no-nonsense manner. It was like they were back in school all over again, and Nott was warning him to quit his ridiculous scheming and to focus more on his studies. "Sure, dad," he mocked. He extricated his hand from Theo's grip and turned on his heel to head out. "I'll get right on that."

"Wanker," Theo accused after him.

He ran into Blaise on his way through the camp. "Neville and Charlie are heading into Blessington today to pick up supplies for the party tomorrow." Everyone in camp was looking forward to the dual wedding, he knew.

"I'll go with," Draco automatically offered, needing to get out and keep busy. Maybe there would be word of Mort's activities in Dublin and the surrounding areas.

Zabini made to argue and Draco knew he'd be restating Theo's concerns. "I'll have Weasley Side-Along me, so no exertion on my part. Hold down the fort while I'm gone." He stepped past his friend, intending on heading deeper into camp to find the Dragon Tamer and Longbottom to go over the day's plans.

On a whim, he stopped and turned back. "Check on Stretton after yesterday's fiasco. If he's well, I'll want him to come with. He and I have something to discuss." Like the whole Vampire thing. It was getting out of hand. If he hadn't petrified the guy after being attacked yesterday, Draco had no doubts he'd have ended up as lunch.

Blaise nodded and headed off in the opposite direction, towards Stretton's tent.

Draco continued on his way to collect Longbottom before heading off to Weasley's tent, his thoughts filled with Hermione, as they were every free minute of every day.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (eight minutes past eleven A.M.)_**

Blaise stopped outside Stretton's tent, hearing the sounds of some serious sex play going on inside. Shite on a shingle, he didn't have time for this nonsense! "Stretton, if you're feeling better," he shouted through the closed tent flaps, "some of us have work to accomplish today, and Malfoy needs you."

To his utter surprise, Bradley's head peeked out of the tent through an opening he created. "Thirty minutes," he calmly requested. "We'll meet you in the main pavilion."

Too shocked to reply, he simply blinked as Will's head disappeared back inside, and the words to a Silencing Charm were cast by Bradley. Instantly, the moaning and gasping was cut-off, and all sounds from beyond the fabric opening were nullified to the outside world.

"Fucking hell," he snarled, turning towards Pansy's tent, hoping to catch her off-guard for some good snogging. It seemed everyone in camp was getting some, except him. The fact that such a condition was his own _bloody_ fault was irrelevant at that moment.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past eleven A.M.)_**

Swallowing back his anxiety, Jeremy, accompanied by Will and Su to either side, appeared in the main tent exactly on-time. He knew he'd face some penalty for yesterday's events at the hospital, for he'd been caught off-guard by those Death Eaters who had then overwhelmed him, and was willing to accept the punishment. His mates, however, had decided to stand by him and plead his case, if need be.

It turned out that his worrying was for naught.

Malfoy turned to him, as calm as could be. "Longbottom, Weasley and I are going into Blessington for supplies for tomorrow's events. You're coming with."

He paused, licked his lips once, and asked the important question. "You'd still trust me after yesterday?" It was obvious that he was referring to his Vampire's near emergence after being attacked and injured.

"You planning on going feral on me again?" his leader asked, narrowing his eyes and noting Will and Su standing stoically at his side.

Jeremy shook his head, feeling his Vampirius' satiation after having spent the last hour, upon their awakening, making love again to both his mates, this time in a true _ménage a trois_. "Things have… changed. The Vampire inside is quieting. It's… mated." The blush ran hot under his cheeks. That seemed too private a thing to divulge - that he had taken not one, but two mates.

Across the space between, Longbottom and Zabini equally looked astonished at the news, Weasley was quite amused, and Malfoy… well, he was as enigmatic as usual, no obvious judgment either way passing through his shrewd, pewter eyes.

"If I may?" Su hesitantly interrupted, her eyes flickering between everyone present. "We - the _three_ of us - have taken each other as mate, and have decided to marry. We would like to do so along with the others tomorrow, if it is not too… uncomfortable… a request."

It was Charlie who spoke up first. "Well, I can't speak for Longbottom, but I believe Fay and I will have absolutely no problem sharing the podium with you three." He reached across and held out a hand to shake. "Congratulations! Love is grand, yeah?"

Jeremy felt something loosen in his chest as he stretched out his hand and took Weasley's. "Thank you." Will also returned the gesture and sentiment, but Su, strangely, did not touch the other man. She merely bowed to him instead, in an elegant, archaic gesture and offered thanks in her native language, explaining her words to him after.

Neville slowly did likewise. "Yeah, I'm fine with it. I'm sure Penny will be, too. Just… surprised. I thought you three-" He stopped that thought, shook his head, and smiled. "Congratulations. It's good."

Again, another round of handshakes and bowing occurred. Neville awkwardly returned Su's gesture and she smiled at him. He profusely blushed and stepped back.

"Well, now that's settled," Blaise smirked, nodding in acceptance of Jeremy's mating, but clearly, still wary of the Vampire issues. "Can I put in a request for some hot chocolate, if you can find any in Blessington? Pans adores the stuff."

Malfoy snorted and turned towards the table, where he'd lain out a map of the area, the issues decided and resolved.

Well, that had gone easier than he'd thought. Jeremy was greatly relieved.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Blessington, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (noon)_**

Hermione and Cormac chose a small, abandoned cottage near Burgage Road, just southeast of Main Street, to share all of the information they'd gathered and to discuss their plans while looking over the map of the Wicklow Mountains that she'd acquired. They munched on the stale pretzels and drank from their bottled water as they talked.

Cormac pointed to an area near a rather sizable body of water. On either side of the lake were a thick copse of trees and the back of it abutted a rather sizable hill. "If I had to pick a spot to assure cover, to make the battlefield difficult for a large enemy force to attack all at once, and where my backside was up against something solid, this would be the place. From here, your group could either fight or Disapparate, using the trees to confuse and hide the attacks and jumps. The water could be magically used as a wall for the same purpose."

She nodded, agreeing with his assessment. Her fingers traced over two other spots that also contained tactical advantages. The three points were on three different sides of the park – covering a huge area. Any one of them could be where the insurrection was hiding, if they were still here. That the general store owner had seen two people matching Bradley and Li's descriptions heartened her, however, to the idea that her people were still in the area.

"Where'd you learn to be such a good tactician?" she asked, memorizing the direction they'd have to go to reach the first point of interest before folding the map up and putting it inside her Bag of Holding.

Cormac tilted his bottle back and took a big swig, and her eyes were unwittingly drawn to the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "My uncle, Tiberius, was a student of Muggle military tactics," he explained once he was able to talk. "He used to play chess with me and we'd spend hours talking on the subject whenever I'd see him during holidays. He ended up working for the Ministry – until Voldemort had his soul sucked out by Dementors."

Something important occurred to her then. "Why doesn't Mort like Dementors? Voldemort used them frequently in his bid to win the war, but Mort seems to have sent them away."

McLaggen capped his now-empty water bottle and threw it into his Bag. "He hates 'em. Uses them as he must, but he's made it clear from the start that he wouldn't tolerate Dementors anywhere near him. Some are his guards at Azkaban, but the rest he'd banished here to Ireland that first year he'd risen to power – as far away from him as he could get. No idea why."

Hermione considered that. Maybe it was because Harry was terrified of Dementors? Whatever the reason, it worked to their advantage as the dark cloaked abominations had pretty much stayed out of this second half of the war. If they'd been called in, she was sure that the rebellion would have been sniffed out easily and done away with months and months ago.

"I've heard it's the same with Vampires and Werewolves," she made idle chat, as she glanced out through a crack in the shack's door to see if it were all-clear for them to sneak out.

Cormac came up behind her and peeked through the opening she'd made as well. "All monsters," he whispered, his mouth entirely too close to her ear right then. "Haven't you noticed that he's killed every house-elf, goblin and centaur he's come across? He's also forced the remaining Acromantulas, Fenrir's werewolves and the few Dragons left to do his bidding. And he's captured anyone with Veela and Vampire blood and taken them to The Fortress. What he does to them there, no one knows – not even those of us he'd considered his most loyal. They're never heard from or seen again, though, I know that."

"What do Veela and Vampire have that's so special to warrant their capture rather than their outright murder?" she wondered in a similarly restrained tone of voice. They hadn't, after all, cast a _Muffliato_ on the area, and if their luck went bad and someone happened across them, they'd be found. For that reason, it was best to be a bit more precautionary in the modulation of their voices. "If he doesn't use them to serve as muscle, then he must use them for magical purposes, I would guess. But what can they offer?"

"They're both strong in mind-magic, and they're like berserkers when their mates are threatened," he explained. "Two sides of the same coin, and all that."

Hermione paused, seriously considering what he'd just said. She turned, and he backed up a bit, as if sensing he was standing too close for her comfort. "That's odd. I've never thought of them as such until now."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "You mean to tell me that you – the bookworm of Hogwarts – never put it together that Veela and Vampires are the same creature, only exact opposites?" He smirked. "_I_ know something _you_ don't? Get out!"

She frowned, not liking being made fun of, and feeling embarrassed at never having made such a connection on her own. Her pride took the hit. "Well, now that you mention it, I could see how you would believe such a thing, but what proof do you have that they're related?"

He opened his mouth, shut it, and his face changed from confusion to enlightenment in a beat. "That's right: I was a year ahead of you, and got the last proper Defense Against the Dark Arts seventh year education before Dumbledore's death. You missed a whole term's lessons on magical Beings because of the war." He started ticking commonalities off on his fingers. "Basically, both Veela and Vampires take life mates that they bind to them with chemical aphrodisiacs through a bite mark. Both are separate entities sharing a host body with a human. Both require sustenance beyond food and sleep to re-energize – sex for a Veela, blood for a Vampire. Both transform into monstrous forms when they're angry or upset, and both transformations look similar – wings, claws, and their eyes shine."

"But," she made a valiant last attempt at debate, still not quite convinced, "Veela are born and Vampires are made."

Cormac tilted his head and smirked. "Exact opposites, but the same."

"Life and death," she breathed in awe, seeing the connections now that her mind had been opened to them. "Vampirism is thought to be a virus, though. Being a Veela is hereditary. How could they be related? Is Vampirism some sort of… mutation… of the Veela gene? Edward Worple postulated in his book that Vampirism was an ancient affliction, said to be old even when Mesopotamia was young. If both Veela and Vampires evolved from the same ancestor, then a split must have occurred at some point along their family cladogram. That could account for the similarities and differences between them – organisms simultaneously evolving along parallel paths…"

McLaggen's hand over her mouth shut her brain down. She blinked up at him with irritation, hating to be interrupted when mulling over a problem.

"You're thinking too much about something that doesn't really matter at the moment. Find your friends first," he wisely advised. "Save the scholarly shite for later, when there's time."

She sighed and nodded. He was absolutely right. Now, if only he'd pull his hand away and back off, she could bite back on the flood of desire that shot through her body and the overwhelming urge to mate right then and there. Her inner animal had instantly reacted to his touch, and now it was roaring to couple with him.

Cormac stiffened as their eyes met and he noticed her desire. His nostrils flared and his cheeks pinked, and abruptly, there was a storming, electric attraction between them that threatened to squeeze all the air from her lungs. He dropped his hand. "Keep looking at me like that and I'll give you what you're asking for," he growled the warning.

She jerked her head and forcibly turned away, stepping to the side. "Ignore it," she grated. "It'll stop eventually."

Even as she spoke the words, the wolf within her heart and mind whined at the thought of turning this beautiful, virile, available alpha male aside.

Shite, no wonder Astoria and Malfoy had eventually given in to their basest desires. How could they have stomached repressing these feelings, day after day, trapped together by a mission to continue forward no matter what, unable to turn back…

…just as she and Cormac were doing.

Bloody hell, she _would not_ end up in that same situation!

Her companion took a deep breath and gradually let it out. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door. "I'm trying. I'm really, seriously trying, Granger." His fisted knuckles ran up and down the faded, stained oak. His breathing came as hard panting as he trembled. "But Godric's bane, I _want_ you. I want to mount you and fuck you hard and deep until we both scream from the sheer pleasure of it. I-I've got to leave right now, or-" He let out a shuddering breath. "Just… walk. I'll catch up."

He opened the door, quickly looked out, and hurried away.

As the door shut behind him, Hermione slumped against the wall, shaking. "Draco," she whispered, clinging to her memories of him, tears of frustration wavering in her eyes. She blinked them away. "Please, _please_ let me find you soon."

It took her fifteen more minutes to regain her sanity before heading out. She avoided the main strip, keeping to the edge of the lake, trying to find the bridge to the north that would take her out of Blessington and south towards Wicklow. With every step, she reminded herself that she was one foot closer towards the man she loved.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Just outside of Blessington, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past twelve P.M.)_**

At Blaise's insistence, Draco went Side-Along on Stretton's arm to the rendezvous point just south of Blessington, while Su Apparated both Longbottom and Weasley to the same location, having explained in their strategy session that she'd been there before. After they arrived, she took a moment to kiss Jeremy and to regain her breath, and then Disapparated in that same swirling flare of color, heading back to camp, per orders. Too many strangers in town would probably make the townspeople nervous, they'd all agreed.

"Fancy trick, that," Weasley muttered. "How come she can jump so prettily?"

Stretton glared at him. "Half-Vampire," he muttered as he passed Charlie, taking the lead, as previously agreed.

"_You_ don't do that," the Dragon Tamer teased, grinning in jest. "Hell, half the time, you don't even smell that good, much less do the cool sparkly thing."

Jeremy flipped him the two-fingered salute behind his back and kept moving, not deigning to answer and give away the secrets of his other half. Weasley chuckled, and the group fell into line behind Stretton – Draco first, then Longbottom, and finally the red-headed warlock to bring up the rear.

Draco may have let Blaise talk him into giving Stretton a break after the cluster fuck at the Muggle hospital in Drogheda, but he kept a wary eye on the man, just in case. No, his best scout couldn't help the issues of his birth, but Jeremy was still part-monster and could therefore turn on them at any minute. Draco had never been more aware of that fact than he had been yesterday, when he'd looked into those red eyes and seen nothing but a predator staring back at him.

The four men walked in silence for a ways, until they came to the bridge that would take them over the river and into Blessington.

"Wish we had some Polyjuice," Neville murmured, staring at the only way across for miles. "Your white hair and his red," he indicated both Draco and Weasley, "are dead give-aways."

"Keep calm," Draco instructed. "We get in, we get what we need, and we get out before nightfall. Stick to the plan."

Every head nodded, and then they headed across, stepping out of cover into full view. The idea made him cringe with every fiber of his being, until they were, at last, on the other side and split up according to errand.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Blessington, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past one P.M.)_**

Hermione reached the bridge, and stopped to look about. There was no sign of Cormac anywhere. She worried about that, but her anxiousness to get into Wicklow before night fell was a powerful compulsion, so she crossed the bridge and headed south.

_I'm coming, Draco!_

**X~~~~~X**

**_The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past one P.M. – same time)_**

Naked, overheated, Ginny lay against Phil as he slept, unable to find rest, her mind whirling over thoughts of what had been and plans for the future.

Thank the Founders that Myrtle had been as good as her word. She'd led them through the tunnel system once they'd been ejected from the slippery pipe, and Ginny had used the Parseltongue phrase that Harry had made her memorize to open the door to the inner sanctum of the Chamber of Secrets. The stench of the rotting reptile had been awful, and she and Phil both had been forced to cover their noses with their robe sleeves to breathe.

Inside, Myrtle had pointed out the rock where Harry had once skewered the Basilisk with Godric Gryffindor's sword. The Cloak was sitting atop it, she stated. She then took her leave to assure the way back was still secure, offering to warn them should Death Eaters, Snatchers or Trackers enter her bathroom.

With a nonverbal spell and a flick of his wand, Phil had _Accio'_d the Cloak, passing it into her keeping at long last, and her heart had given a small tug in sorrow at the thought that it was no longer Harry's inheritance, but hers.

After that, they'd traversed back up the pipe (a long, disgusting trek), thanked Myrtle and wished her well (she'd requested that they, "kill Tom Riddle in the most horrifically wonderful way you can"), and they'd returned to their shared room and made love in celebration. Her wizard had been extra-attentive to her needs, using that wicked tongue of his on her for more than an hour before finally joining them. It had been a sweaty, delicious coming together, and had satisfyingly knocked them both out in the afterglow.

Now, as she lay next to the man who was quickly burrowing his way into her heart, she could feel his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm against her cheek and knew she couldn't ask any more of him. He'd jeopardized his mission for hers three times now – once for her when she'd been brought in, once for her wand when she'd asked him to retrieve it, and once for the Cloak earlier today. She could ask no more of him, and besides, with the sneak-thief Deathly Hallow in her possession, she could achieve her final aim easily enough on her own.

Lightly kissing his cheek, she extricated her body from his bed, quickly redressed, grabbed her wand and slung the Cloak over her head, assuring every inch of her was covered. Cracking the door, she checked both ways down the corridors before exiting, quietly closing the door behind her.

On creeping foot, she made her way through the castle, using the Marauder's Map – another one of Harry's gifts before his death – to zero-in on the one person she'd been looking for since she returned to this awful island. _He_ was in the dungeon, and next to him stood Virgil Yaxley and Angelina Johnson.

Shite, Yaxley was one of Voldemort's oldest and most seasoned soldiers. She'd have to come up with a way of neutralizing him fast and effectively without alerting the whole castle. Several scenarios crossed her mind as she hurried towards her destination.

Arriving outside the room that her target was located, she folded up her map and put it back inside her robes' inner pocket, gripping her wand in a tight hold, and eavesdropped at the door. Inside, Angelina was crying. The sharp crack of a whip striking flesh had Ginny wincing. Her brother's wife screamed, her sobbing sounding weak, exhausted. Merlin, how long had she been here? How much torture had she endured?

"Again," Yaxley commanded, his roughened, whisky-hard voice snapping with anger.

The whip fell again and her sister-in-law cried out once more.

Tears flooded Ginny's eyes. Fucking bastard would pay, she vowed, and wrapped her knuckles on the door to execute the plan she'd decided upon to best catch Yaxley by surprise. She hastily stepped to the side, holding her wand at the ready, a dreaded and awful spell prepared on her lips.

As she'd correctly guessed, Yaxley's irritated voice rang out. "What?" When no answer was forthcoming, he barked out a nasty curse and a moment later, the door opened. "What the hell do you-?"

He never finished his sentence. Ginny killed him in a flash of green light, her hands shaking and her guts sick at having had to cast her first actual _Avada_. The white-haired, older wizard fell to the floor with a surprised expression on his ugly face, wedging the door open with his wide-shouldered body. Knees quaking, Ginny stepped over him…

...and stopped on a knut, shocked by what she was seeing.

Her older brother, Fred stood with his wand pointed at her, although he couldn't see her under the Cloak, and in his hand was the whip. "Shite!" he snarled, noting Yaxley lying inert on the floor, obviously having seen the green spell hit the man and heard the words that called out his demise. "_Stupefy_," he called out.

The hex just barely missed her, striking the door to her right. She pounced to the side and crouched to the floor, remaining still and silent, trying to determine what the hell Fred was doing. Eyes wide, sweat pouring down the side of his red face, his wand jerked all over the place as he tried to find the intruder. He looked like he was suffering from a mushroom high gone bad.

Ginny spared a quick glance at Angelina. Her back was a bloodied mess of pulpy, bloodied flesh. By Merlin, Fred had been torturing his own wife!

Something was _very _wrong. They must have done something to him to force him to act this way – a spell, a potion… whatever. Fred would never hurt Angie otherwise.

Making up her mind on a course of action, she lifted her wand and aimed at his chest. "_Stupefy_," she called out and her spell connected. Fred fell back and crumpled to the ground, unconscious. "_Incarcerous_," she followed it up, assuring his arms and legs both were tied beyond any ability to move. Quickly moving to his side, she picked up his wand and tucked it into her waist, pulling the Cloak from her at the same time and placing it on a nearby table.

Her mind switching into battle mode, recalling the training Bill, George and her father had given her before this mission, and she realized what she needed to do. "_Mobilicorpus_," she pointed at Yaxley and pulled him inside the room, catching the door at the last second to assure it didn't slam. She hastily locked it against intrusion.

_"Never leave behind a body without securing it first,"_ her oldest brother had cautioned her once when they'd discussed the possibility of having to kill on this mission. He'd been right about that. If someone stumbled upon Yaxley's carcass before they'd had a chance to put Phil's plan into action tomorrow, the alarm would sound the castle would be locked down. Mort would, most likely, return in such a case.

No choice, then.

"_Incendio Maxima._"

Yaxley's body was engulfed in blue flame that burned hot and fast, leaving no smoke behind. The smell of charred flesh was awful, however. Yet, she was sure that in this place, even if the scent traveled down the corridor, it probably wouldn't be considered uncommon. She was sure, given all she'd seen of Death Eater proclivities since coming to this forsaken country again, that they used fire to torture their victims from time to time. Sick fuckers.

When only ash remained, she flicked her wand, gathering it all up in a whirl of a small breeze and dumped it into – conveniently enough – a nearby trash bin. That done, she moved to Angelina, assuring she was still alive. Her sister-in-law was barely conscious, her eyes rolling around in her head. "Angie, can you hear me? It's me, Ginny," she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. "I've come to rescue you. Just hold on."

Assessing the damage to the other woman's body, she cast several healing charms, sealing up the bloodied ribbons that her back had been made into, and _Scourgify_-ing away the blood. She then released the manacles about Angelina's wrists and caught her SIL in her arms before she hit the floor. "_Enervate_," she cast, seeing no choice but to force Angie to wake up, as she couldn't carry her.

The woman was shaking, her body struggling to overcome the shock because of her spell. When the glazed look left her eyes, she began crying as she noticed it was Ginny leaning over her.

"No time for that," Ginny had to heartlessly tell her friend. "We have to get out of here. I killed Yaxley and stunned Fred. Someone might be along at any time. We have to escape." She pulled Angelina up into a sitting position. "Get a hold of yourself. You can cry later. I need you to pull it together, Angie." She shook her to get her attention. "Stop crying this second!"

As if she'd been stunned, Angelina suddenly went silent, staring at Ginny with a wide, horrified, pain-filled gaze.

"Stand up!" Ginny commanded, using her best Bill impersonation. "Stand up and live! Nothing else matters but that right now."

Slowly, the woman's long legs moved to a kneeling position, and with Ginny's help, they finally got her on her feet half a minute later. It took another few minutes for the light of rationality to return to her friend's face, and then she looked very angrily down on Fred. Before Ginny could stop her, she kicked her husband in the ribs – hard. "You dumb motherfucker," she seethed. "You let them convert you to stop them from hurting me. I told you not to do that! When are you gonna learn that, as your wife, I know better than you?"

Converted? What was this? How?

_"Later, little kitten,"_ she heard Bill's voice in her head, imagining his wise counsel. _"Get them up. You know what to do."_

With as few words as possible, she explained her plan to Angie. The woman stared back at her with incredulity. "Have you ever _Imperio_'d anyone?" she finally stuck it to Ginny.

She shook her head, brushing long strands of sweaty hair out of her face. "No, but we have no choice. I'll just have to concentrate really hard to hold him. You just make sure you do your part and play his scared prisoner so we won't be found out. Remember, we're heading back to Phil's room, where I told you. Here," she handed Angelina her husband's wand. "Just in case. Keep it up your sleeve and out of sight unless things go bad and we need to battle our way out."

"And what will we do with him once you release him from the Imperius?" she nudged a chin at her inert lover on the floor. "He'll call the alarm. He's been converted, remember?"

Ginny considered that. "I'm sure Phil's got something to keep him doped up and quiet. If not, we'll just alternate _Stupefy_-ing and _Imperio_-ing him."

"Too many mind spells can cause brain damage, you know."

Trying not to find humor in the situation, but feeling as though if she didn't, she'd crack, Ginny chuckled at that. "My brother's been brain damaged since birth. Not much change there."

To her pleased surprise, Angelina smirked. "Yeah," she said, looking down at the man she married. "It's why I love the dope." Kneeling down at his side, she brushed back the fringe from his eyes. "Hold on, baby. I'm gonna save you somehow."

Their plan went off with only one small hitch – it took several tries to hold Fred in Ginny's mind magic, as he was strong and attempted to shake her off. But, she'd been trained by Bill for mental discipline – in Occlumency – and used that steel will to force Fred to act as if he'd captured Angelina and was escorting her to Phil's room to "share his spoils of war with a friend." Hidden under the Cloak, Ginny kept her wand trained on her brother all the way back to Cadwallader's room.

When they crept in, Phil was startled awake and nearly fell off the bed in a bid to reach his wand, not understanding who the intruders were. After locking the door and bespelling the room for Silence, Ginny took the Cloak off and revealed all.

"I-is that… another Weasley?" he stammered, noting the red hair.

"My idiot older brother, who apparently got himself caught and… converted – whatever that means," she confirmed. Turning her wand on Fred, she ordered him to lay face-down on the floor, putting his hands behind his back. She then cast _Incarcerous_ again upon him, assuring he couldn't make any attempt at escape, and followed it up with a _Silencio_ to assure he couldn't scream or call for help.

Phil and Angelina simple stared at her like she was an alien.

"You're… kinda… _scary_, you know," her sister-in-law stated.

Ginny grinned and twirled her wand through her fingers. "You ain't seen nothing yet. Now, let's talk about how we're breaking out of this joint tomorrow. We need an air-tight plan – something that'll let us move Chuckles here, too," she toed her brother's leg with one booted foot, "'cause I'm not leaving a single person behind to face worse torture and death in the light of our escape. Not if I can help it."

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Lily Potter's spell = **Because we have no idea what the "ancient, old magic" that Lily Potter used to save Harry's life when he was a baby, I have taken liberties in this fic to assume it is of ancient Roman origin, and have thus referred to ancient Roman mysticism and spiritual rituals to make Cormac's vow to Hermione stick under the same rules as Lily's did. The idea of exchanging places with someone else's death Fate is rather well-recorded in ancient Roman literature, and the Latin phrases have the double benefit of falling into line with many of JKR's use of Latin for spells in the HP universe. It worked, so let's go with it.

**_Devotio = _**In ancient Roman religion, the _devotio _was an extreme form of _votum_ (an offering in fulfillment of an advance promise) in which a Roman general vowed to sacrifice his own life in battle along with the enemy to chthonic gods in exchange for a victory. The English word "devotion" derives from this concept. In 340 B.C., the Roman consul, Publius Decius Mus, had his ritual of _devotio_ written down for posterity. It was transcribed in the first century A.D. by the Augustan historian, Livy, in his publication, "History of Rome," and is the only known surviving record of this ritual. In that transcription, Livy notes the ritual prayer Mus makes before killing himself, and in it, he invokes several Roman deities, as well as gods outside the Roman pantheon (supposedly, to cover all bases for an assured victory, despite such a thing begin a sacrilege to his religion), including: _"…Lares, divine Novensiles, divine Indigetes, gods whose power extends over us and over our enemies, divine Manes…" _

**Lares **= Guardian deities in ancient Roman religion. Their origin is uncertain; they may have been guardians of the hearth, fields, boundaries or fruitfulness, hero-ancestors, or an amalgam of these. Lares were believed to observe, protect and influence all that happened within the boundaries of their location or function.

**Manes** = In ancient Roman religion, the Manes (or Di Manes) are chthonic deities (deities or spirits of the underworld) sometimes thought to represent the souls of deceased loved ones. Latin spells of antiquity were often addressed to The Manes, who were the spirits of deceased ancestors.

**_Pro eis quos amo jacturam faciam_****. **= Latin for "For she whom I love, I will sacrifice (implied: myself)."

**Helio = **Greek for "Sun."

**Revelio = **JKR's spell for Revealing (i.e. _Hominem Revelio_ = Reveal Humans).

**Helio Revelio = **A spell I invented for the sake of this fic. It is not canon.

**Ghosta vs. Wraiths = **JKR's definition of a ghost is rather sketchy. They are, basically, the disembodied spirit of a once living witch or wizard. They can appear either in the form of their previous living body's incarnation (silvery-white in appearance and see-through) or as a silvery wisp of cloud. They are incorporeal and cannot touch objects. There are, however, occasional inconsistencies with this definition contained within the novels (much as there are with the castle's layout), and as such, there's a 'just go with it' attitude pervasive in the books regarding what ghosts can/can't get away with. JKR's world _does not_ include 'wraiths' – at least, not creatures known by that name – so I have taken the liberty of borrowing the term and defining it to mean 'exorcised ghosts' – ghosts who have been tied down to a specific haunting ground by invoking an ancient exorcism spell (the power of chaos is used in the casting). As such, wraiths in this fic will be able to touch the living through that connection to chaos (much as poltergeists like Peeves do), but only within the sphere of their influence (i.e. specifically where they were exorcised – in Myrtle's case, within the confines of the second floor girl's loo, where the Ministry performed the spell on her in 1944 to get her to stop tormenting Olive Hornby).

**Hand-cut turf = **Peat-bog material that is hand harvested and set out to dry in pieces. A traditional Irish fuel source, as wood is not very plentiful. Gives off a lovely aromatic smell when burned.

**Blessington = **All of the names of the streets and locations/stores in Blessington are real – I've looked them up on Google Maps and took a street-view up and down the entire town to assure I was as accurate as possible to what is there today. Of course, I have no idea if these were the same stores back in 2000 in Blessington, but this is the best I have to work with, so let's go with it, shall we?


	28. Ch 26: Tricks & Traps & Ambushes Oh My!

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: TRICKS AND TRAPS AND AMBUSHES – OH MY!**

_**Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past one P.M.)**_

Neville found what he was searching for in the tall, white building just to the west of a half-empty parking lot. A hand-painted sign declared the former Ulster Bank to have been converted into Hennessy's Exchange. He stepped in and immediately, two men approached him from the sides, each carrying some sort of Muggle weaponry.

"I'm a customer," he squeaked, and put his hands up in the universal sign of no harm. "I was told by the keep at Hennessy's Bar and Lounge that I could trade goods for some wedding bands and a dress, maybe other things of that kind."

"Gettin' married are ya?" a fat, grinning old man behind the bank counter asked. He looked infinitely comfortable sitting in a high-back stool, his hands linked over his distended belly. "Well, let's see whatcha have ta offer fer the privilege."

He was allowed to put his hands down. He slowly stuck his hand in his Bag at his hip, willing into his palm one of the bottles of Muggle medicine which Blaise had given him from his private stash before they'd jumped, so Neville would have something of worth to trade. He clunked it down on the counter. "Will this do to start?"

The big man took one look at the bottle and grinned, nodding. "Aye, that's th' kind o' currency tha' will get ya anythin' 'round here. Come 'round the side and I'll show ya me wears. They're in th' vault in th' back."

Willing his wand into his hand, Neville slyly slipped it up his sleeve as he did as instructed, not trusting the greedy glimmer in the man's eye.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past one P.M. – same time)**_

"A wedding dress, ya say?" the woman behind the counter at Balfe's Ladies Fashions and Children's Wear asked, staring at him in surprise over her cracked spectacles. "Well, I have no o' those, but I do have some pretty dresses that any lass might be proud ta wear. But before I show ya me goods, what have ya ta trade?"

Charlie smiled, raised his wand very quickly and pointed it at the woman's glasses. "_Reparo_," he cast, and in a quick flash, her glasses were fixed.

The older woman crossed her eyes looking at the neatly repaired eyewear on her nose, and then she reached up and pushed them into place, blinking in surprise. A bright smile lit her face. "Thank th' Founders!" she cheerfully greeted him. "I've been waiting nigh on months fer a wizard ta show his face 'round here and fix tha' fer me!"

He looked at her in astonishment. "You're-?"

She shook her head. "Me ma was. I was born a Squib." Looking over his shoulder, she hurried over to the door and locked it. "Bes' not go announcin' such things 'round here, tho'. The folks here are right religious kinds, and suspicious of anythin'… _unnatural_ to their way 'o belief. 'Sides, they hate You-Know-Who fer what he's done, and they'll string up anyone likes him." She turned back to him. "Now, I think wit' a wave 'o yer wand, ya can turn any of me dresses inta somethin' stunnin' fer yer lady witch. She is a witch, no?"

He nodded, warming instantly to this kind, old lady. "She is - the best and most beautiful witch in the world."

Her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Spoken like a true lad in love! Come, come," she hurried him into the back room, where it seemed she kept her choice merchandise. Charlie was amazed to find some beautiful dresses on hooks, each stored carefully inside a garment bag. "I'll trade ya some fixin' favors with yer magic fer the dress o' yer choice. What say ya?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a good deal to me."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (half past one P.M. - same time)**_

Pansy heard the rustle of the tent's canvas being pulled back as Blaise entered, and she feigned sleep. She'd pulled a pre-dawn watch from the roster, and had dragged her arse into his tent around ten, wanting to sleep on _his_ pillow and under _his_ blankets, as the scent of him always soothed her frazzled nerves. She'd had a couple of hours of sleep, and was now drifting in and out of that warm, fuzzy slumber to the sound of his coming home.

She knew the instant he spied her lying naked, sprawled in his cot, as he went still. His deep-throated chuckle followed a moment later.

Closing the flaps on the tent behind him, keeping out the cold and light, he moved about quietly divesting himself of his jacket and shirt. When he slid into bed behind her, he was considerate not to thrash about, but to make it a smooth glide between the sheets, obviously trying not to disturb her. By then, however, Pansy was wide awake.

"Morning, sexy," she yawned into his pillow and scooted over to give him room.

Blaise's mouth near her ear was warm, and his snicker was all naughty business. "_Afternoon,_ dove. Sleep well?"

"Mmmm," she hummed in agreement, nodding. "Your cot's softer than mine and your tent is in a quieter spot in camp."

His lips trailed a slow path over her bare shoulder and up the side of her neck. "Shall we swap then?" he teased, his fingertips dancing smooth patterns down her waist and over her hip, following the natural curve of her body.

Yeah, right. Let him share a space with her 'roomie,' Maxine? Not a chance. "Only if you want to sing high soprano for the rest of your life," she threatened.

He bit her in that one spot in the bend of her neck that insured her arousal every time and growled. "I love when you're all possessive, Parkinson, you know?" he playfully teased. His hand roamed over her belly, rubbing circles as his tongue did wicked things to her senses. Against the crease of her buttocks, she felt him hard and straining inside his slacks.

Reaching back, she trailed her hand over his erection, stroking it. He groaned, and thrust into her palm, sucking hard at the same time upon her throat. When his fingers tickled her right nipple, her moan was loud and desperate. "Take these off," she commanded him, tugging on the waist of his pants, reaching for the button and freeing it. "Please."

Blaise's body heat was an inferno against her back, and his accelerated breath blasted hot across her slightly damp skin. "Dove, you're treading in dangerous waters," he warned. "My control isn't that good today. Let's just… slow down a bit."

Trying not to feel stung over the rejection, understanding why he wanted things to be savored between them, she withdrew her hand and placed it over one of his. "Will you touch me, at least? You can leave your clothes on."

He sat up on his elbow and leaned over her. Turning her head, she met his dark gaze. They regarded each other in silence for several heartbeats.

"Flip onto your back," he bid in a whisper.

She did as he requested, and he moved so he was sitting up and pulled the covers back. There was enough light in the tent filtering through the canvas for them to see each other, and Pansy watched and waited with nervous trepidation as Blaise finally got his first full glimpse of her nude body, head to toe. His eyes lingered as they slowly roamed down the length of her, pausing and appreciating the roundness of her breasts, the dip of her navel, the curly, dark hair covering her pussy, and her slim ankles. The intimacy of the hushed moment, the need reflected in his face as he admired her form made things in her chest ache.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for what this wizard made her feel.

"I love you," she whispered, shocked by the spill of unexpected tears from the corners of her eyes and the trembling of her heart.

His lashes flickered and their eyes met. "You sure?" he asked, repeating her sentiment from the other day.

Slowly, she sat up and reached for him. The kiss she pressed to his lips was reverent and filled with a garden of emotion. "I am now," she replicated his response, smiling against his mouth and dragging him down to the cot.

For the next hour, Blaise showed just enough restraint to keep things from getting out of hand, but the snogging was out of this world. Eventually, he tapered them off, pulling her into his strong embrace and settling down for a nap. As he held her close to his chest, falling into that warm, delicious lull that accompanied a small endorphin rush, he instructed her in a low murmur that she would move into his tent pronto because he liked coming home to her lying in his bed. At that, Pansy was more than willing to again overlook the fact that he'd slyly figured out a way to temporarily check her libido.

Hell, as long as he kept talking to her like that, she supposed she could happily postpone the sex… for a little bit longer, anyway.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (half-past one P.M. – same time)**_

Draco found the items on Charlie's and Blaise's lists at Kenny's Super Valu market at the far end of town. He'd had to trade a fair number of items for a tin of cocoa powder, several cans of condensed milk, two bags of flour, a bag of dried apples, another of European sweet chestnuts, and a small container of instant coffee. It wasn't much, but then this small town didn't seem to have much to spare. Mostly, he was there for information anyway.

Learning that Dublin had been subjugated – so close to where they were now – made him anxious and worried. Blessington was a hop and a skip away. Eventually, the Dark Lord's minions would come here, and this town would also fall. The thought didn't settle well with him, not just because it would be another inch of ground given way to Mort and his people, but because this town would be beaten down until it became a place of fear. Right now, outside, people still walked in the streets. That would end the moment those inky black trails appeared in the sky overhead.

He thanked the man who'd negotiated with him, and left.

Across the street, there was a barber's shop, and it appeared it was still available for business. He considered his shaggy mane, and decided he'd spare the time and get a cut… and maybe some more information out of the man with the shears, who would probably know everyone's business in town.

"How're ya?" an older, bald man smiled at him as he stepped through the door, setting a small bell to ringing. "Ya'll be needin' a cut, I see. Good, good. Sit, sit." He indicated a vacant chair in the small waiting area. "I'll be done in a jiff." He turned back to the man whose face he was very delicately shaving.

Draco took the opportunity to slip the contents of his shopping bag into his Bag of Holding when the barber wasn't paying attention to him, and then looked around. He'd never been in a Muggle hair cutting establishment – a wizarding one, yes, but never one belonging to someone who used non-magicked scissors. It looked, remarkably, similar to the one in Diagon Alley, however, to his surprise: chairs, mirrors, hair _accoutrements_, apron and brush – all the same.

A few minutes later, and the first client was finished and out the door, apparently having pre-paid, or so Draco guessed. He took the empty chair that the barber indicated and was fitted with the apron to keep hair off his clothing. "How short do ye want it, lad?"

"Off the collar, long in front, short in back," he instructed. "Tidy up the sides, as well."

The barber paused for only a moment, and then spritzed down Draco's hair from a bottle filled with water. As he combed through the unkempt strands, he did what most in his trade tend to do: try to fiddle out information from their customers.

"So, yer a Brit, eh?"

Draco managed to keep the smirk off his face. "American, actually," he lied. "Raised in London by my father, though. He took me to Ireland to catch a boat back home when that wizard fellow first appeared, but we missed our chance. He died not long after. I've been trying to find a way out since."

The barber's shoulders and facial muscles relaxed. "Ah, lad, th' last boats ta America sailed months ago. None'll be comin' back this way 'cept ta serve the Dark Lord's will, carryin' supplies from yer home country."

Alarms went off in Draco's head at the so casual reference of Mort as 'the Dark Lord.'

"Have you seen any of them? These… magic users?" Draco feigned naivety. "I've not seen a one in all this time. All I've heard is they wear black robes and some strange masks, and they fly around casting spells. Almost sounds like something out of a children's tale."

The haircutter snorted. "'Tis no imagination, lad. They're real. Their Lord is real."

"You've seen him, then?" he asked, putting awe into his tone. "Near here? I heard from the grocer across the street that Dublin's fallen. They must be nearby, don't you think?"

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The barber was quiet for long moments, and Draco watched him in the mirror, holding his wand in a tight grip under the apron.

"It's best no ta ask too many questions," the man advised, his warning tone dark.

They remained silent for the long minutes it took to complete the haircut. When it was finished, the hairdresser spun Draco around and handed him a big mirror so he could use it to see the back of his head. It looked good, he had to admit – back to normal.

"What do I owe you?" he asked, making a feint to root around, having tucked his wand up his sleeve. "I've got some trinkets in here that should be equitable." He pulled out a Muggle wind-up wrist watch he'd picked up on one of his jumps about looking for Hermione. "Will this be sufficient? It runs by winding."

The barber accepted the watch with a nod.

As Draco made for the door, the older man called him back. "Son, where's tha' there grocery bag I seen ya come in with? Looked mighty packed ta me."

Shite! He'd made a mistake in tucking it into his Bag of Holding, not thinking that someone might notice. He fingered his wand, let it slide slowly between his fingers, hiding it from this man's view on the outside of his pant leg.

"Bag?" he feigned ignorance. "I didn't bring a bag in with me." His wand grip slid into his palm and he clenched it tight, a spell already on his lips.

"Then why were ya at th' grocers across the street if no ta buy goods?" the man countered, and it was clear from his expression that he knew Draco was lying.

It happened fast. Draco turned and raised his wand… and the barber did likewise as he brought around a wand from behind his back.

"_Imperio!_"

"_Crucio!_"

The barber's attack missed, hitting one of the empty chairs to Draco's right, but Draco's spell hit its mark. Instantly, the older wizard struggled to shake off the mental hold on him. However, to someone with Draco's upped magical level of late, quashing that resistance took very little effort. "You will put your wand away now," he commanded, and the hair dresser obeyed without pause. "Push up your sleeves to your elbows."

The man did as obeyed. He wasn't marked.

"_Legilimens_," he cast and instantly was inside the man's head, rifling through memories in flashes of seconds.

Ah, so he was a Snatcher, hence no mark. Seems he intended on crawling up the ranks and eventually taking a place as a Death Eater by spying in this town for Mort.

"Won't your boss be disappointed when you don't check in?" he smirked, and crossed the distance between them in a few short strides, pressing his wand tip to the man's temple. "_Obliviate._" He erased any reference to serving as a Snatcher from the man's head. When he was done, he _Stupefy_'d the man, and eased him into one of the barber chairs. He then destroyed all evidence that he'd ever been there by _Scourgify_-ing his hair clippings on the floor, and took his watch back, pocketing it. Casting a _Point Me_ spell to find his comrades, the wand pointed west, back down the main street.

Turning the sign on the door over to "CLOSED," he walked out, trying to look casual, but moving as quickly as possible. There may be more Snatchers, or worse, Trackers in town. Everyone was suspect now.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (two o'clock P.M.)**_

Keeping to the tree line bordering the road towards Wicklow, Hermione stopped for a short snack and water break. There was still no sign of Cormac, as far as she could tell. But then, her senses as a human weren't half as acute as a wolf's, so perhaps he was lingering somewhere just out of sight to keep an eye on her. Who knew with him? He'd been really shaken up after their encounter in the small, abandoned cottage earlier, and was fairly unpredictable to start.

She pulled her map from her Bag to check it again, marking the path she intended on taking to search the National Park once she reached its borders. It was still an hour or so before she got to that point, if she continued along the side of the road, as she was.

Folding up her map and replacing it within her Bag, she finished off her water bottle and was just about to save it inside her stash when a hand clamped firmly down upon her wand wrist.

Looking up, she stared into a familiar set of dark blue eyes, lined with kohl.

It was Scabior, Head Snatcher.

"'ello, lovely. We meets again."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (five past two o'clock P.M.)**_

Neville had just completed the negotiation for trade for two plain, gold bands, a lacy blue garter and a wedding dress for Penny when Malfoy walked in. His body posture was casual and he made no overt signs of recognizing Neville, so he assumed that meant that their fearless leader was pretending _not_ to know him. He played along.

"We ha' a deal, me laddie," the gormless worm behind the counter agreed to the swap, putting his arms about the medicine on the counter and dragging it towards him as if he were protecting a precious commodity. In the end, he'd only had to trade three bottles of regular analgesic, one of some kind of anti-depressant, cough syrup, and another high dosage pain medication.

He was slow in packing away the items he'd bartered for in the backpack he'd brought along, wanting to find out what Malfoy was up to. The proprietor of the Exchange had completely dismissed him, having finished their transaction, and now had his eye on Draco.

"Wha' canna do fer ya?" he asked the blond, whom the guards had moved in on with caution, hands on their weapons.

Malfoy stared the man down with that icy grey gaze of his. "Goods don't interest me. I'm in the market for information."

Neville watched the greed in the other man's face bloom once more into full-on prominence. He quickly stashed the medicine bottles somewhere behind the counter and took back the seat he'd been sitting in when Neville had first entered the establishment. "Well now, wha' ha' ya fer trade a'fore we sit nice and starts chattin'?"

Draco stared a moment in silence, but Neville caught the very sly drop of his wand into his hand. He did the same with his own wand, spells already on his lips to knock out the guards.

"I'll trade you," he casually drawled, "a _Stupefy_."

Behind him, one of the guards fell in a flash of red. Neville cast the second Stunning Spell at the other guard a second behind. He had his wand trained on the fat one behind the counter a moment later – only to see Malfoy had the man already under a tight Imperius Curse.

"What's happened?" he asked, casting an _Incarcerous_ each for the guards, just in case. Ropes entangled them back-to-back as they lay on the floor.

"Ran into a Snatcher pretending to be a barber," his leader informed him. He turned the full brunt of that powerful mind on the Exchange's owner. "You're going to tell me who else in this shanty little town might be working for the Dark Wizard."

The man began babbling off names.

"Merlin's beard, does the whole bloody place work for him?" Neville asked, amazed.

Draco was quaking with anger. "We have to get the others and get out. Now."

Neville looked around at all of the goods in the place. With a flick of his wand, he turned his backpack into another Bag of Holding. "I'll take what we can from here. You find Charlie and Jeremy." Malfoy shook his head and made to give him instruction, but Neville was stubborn in making his case and cut his leader off before he could disobey a direct order. "Penny tells me about your meetings in the War Tent. If we're going to jump around, we're going to need supplies. The enemy is cutting off our old haunts one-by-one. The things in here will buy us time before we have to risk sticking our necks out again." He held his hand out. "Give me your Bag. I'll shove everything in these that I can."

The wizard who had once tormented him as a child, but was now a trusted colleague, stared at him through compressed lips, knowing that the logic presented to him was impeccable. For the first time in their long-time acquaintance, Neville won a fight against Malfoy.

With a resigned sigh, Draco took his Bag off his hip and tossed it across the space between them. Neville caught it and began flicking his wand around the store, moving things hurriedly with magic into the three Bags of Holding. "Go, I'll catch up," he promised.

Malfoy nodded. His wand flicked back to the man under his spell, and Neville turned away. If he killed him, it would be no less than this swine deserved.

"_Obliviate._"

Neville sniffed and shook his head. Forgetting you were ever a snitch pig was a good alternative too, though, he supposed.

Two more Obliviation Spells later, and the three unconscious men in the room were wiped clean. How far that went, Neville didn't want to guess. Would they forget how to speak? How to feed themselves? How to wipe their bottoms? He shuddered at the thought. Deserved or not, it would be awful to be regressed to that mental capacity of an infant. Thank Merlin mind-magic was never his forte, as it felt too invasive and destructive for his tastes.

"As soon as you're done stripping this place, you're out," he was warned by the man he'd correctly placed his faith in two years ago. "I'm not going to be the one telling that fiancée of yours that you were injured being a fucking hero. She'll skin me alive. We'll meet on that bridge we crossed to come into town in an hour. It was slightly northeast of here. The sign said Kilbride Road. Remember?"

Concentrating on moving objects from around the room as quickly as possible into their stashes, Neville merely nodded in acknowledgement of the order. Malfoy left. The door to the Exchange boomed shut behind him.

Although he couldn't explain how he knew, Neville's instincts told him that the clock had begun ticking down on them in that exact second. He hurried.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (fifteen past two o'clock P.M.)**_

Jeremy very hesitantly stepped inside Saint Mary's Church. His first thought was that it smelled like too much incense had been burned inside, and someone needed to let open the doors to air out the place. His second thought was how quiet and peaceful it seemed… but that made perfect sense since he was quite alone in the building. He didn't sense any other living bodies within.

The church resembled many of the ones he'd seen in movies: stained glass windows, rows of nicely carved wooden pews, a red carpet runner down the center, grey stone walls, and an altar at the end with a crucifix mounted above it, high up on the wall as the focal point. He wondered what movie screen writers would think of a real Vampire walking into one without being burned, struck by lightning, melted or in any way negatively affected. They'd probably chalk it up to an anomaly and keep on with the incorrect and negative aphorism that Vampires are the children of devils.

Taking a seat in the front row, to the right of the aisle, he looked up at the symbol of Christianity's faith and wondered if the figure of the man hanging upon those two planks of wood ever thought the world he'd supposedly died to save would turn out like _this_.

And hey, where was this Jesus character now, when the good guys could use a little divine intervention?

"Why does Will believe in you so much?" he wondered under his breath. "You're not at home whenever he knocks." He shook his head. "I don't get it."

He dropped his eyes to his hands resting on his knees. They were strong hands, and there was power behind them. With them, he could bring down evil all on his own. He didn't need faith in some invisible man in the sky who played at absentee landlord to give him this ability. He'd gotten it by accident of birth - a birth that this religion didn't tolerate, according to its holy book.

He stood and stared up at the crucifix again. "If you were real, you wouldn't let people suffer like this. You'd send another one of your… saviors… to stop _him_and his army of evil. So, where are you, huh? Where's your big miracle?"

Seconds ticked by and the church remained eerily still and silent.

Jeremy sniffed in disappointment and disdain. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He turned on his heel and left, strangely dissatisfied.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (half past two o'clock P.M.)**_

Scabior had taken Hermione's wand, and he'd broken her wrist with a snapping motion that had caused her to scream and experience exploding white lights behind her eyelids.

That had been at least thirty minutes ago and the pain was still excruciating, refusing to dull. She cradled the hand to her chest, turning her body to the side to protect it, and huddled against the rough bark of some type of deciduous tree, fighting to silence her sobs.

Oh, God, what was she going to do now? The Snatcher King had her dead-to-rights, Cormac was nowhere to be seen or heard, and she was too far away to hope someone from the Wicklow camp might wander by and come to her rescue. She was injured and slowly coming out of shock, and completely unable to defend herself against magic.

But she refused to go down without a fight. No way had she come this far only to be stopped by this scum. She'd beaten bad odds before.

"Now, now, lovely," Scabior crooned, giving her a cold, reptilian smile. "Cryin' ain't becoming of such a pretty face." He reached out with a surprisingly clean handkerchief and wiped at her face with a long arm, keeping just out of reach of a kick and holding her wand hostage to assure her compliance. "There, baby girlie. All good, yeah?"

Shaking from the rush of residual adrenaline as the numbness began to bleed off, Hermione could do little more than stare at her captor. She internally struggled to focus her mental pathways to come up with a plan for escape, but her thought-processes were slow to return. Low blood pressure in times of injury was meant to keep a person from experiencing the full gamut of pain, but it also worked against the victim, as it meant less blood flowed to their neural pathways. After treating several years' worth of field injuries – starting the day Ron had splinched as they'd escaped the Ministry of Magic – had taught her well the signs of hypotension. Luckily, her experience lent itself to knowing the proper treatments to counter.

Inhaling in slow, deep breaths, Hermione filled her lungs with fresh oxygen to stimulate blood flow and regain a calm center, and with her uninjured hand, zipped her jacket to her throat to keep in the heat. Given the circumstances, that was the best she could accomplish for the moment, as she had no access to pain numbing drugs or a wand to heal her wrist at the moment. It was enough for her to regain some control of her body and mind, though, and that was a step in the right direction.

Right, so keeping her mouth shut for now would be best. It took too much energy to try to hold a conversation. Besides, she'd let Scabior think she was too shaken to speak yet, as it would give her the advantage when she finally made her move.

Finishing up cleaning her face to his satisfaction, the man gave her a mocking smirk as he brought the kerchief to his face and sniffed it, playing at being enraptured by the scent. "Ahhhhhh, I've missed yer fragrance, lovely. It's changed tho', hasn't it? Not th' same as two years ago. It was… floral then. Somethin' delicate - womanly." He seemed to reach for the memory, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Ah, yeah! Roses. I remember, ya see. It was them roses, fer sure. Now" – he sniffed again at the piece of fabric – "it stinks o' fear. Think I like this perfume better."

That was the last time she'd seen him – when he'd brought her, Ron and Harry to Malfoy Manor, and then foolishly drew his wand on Bellatrix Lestrange. At the Battle of Hogwarts, Neville had said he'd dueled the man, and that he'd fallen into the chasm below the bridge when it collapsed, plummeting the Leader of the Snatchers to his death. Apparently, Scabior had cast _Arresto Momentum_ in time – or some other spell to aid in breaking his fall.

He began a lazy, sinuous sort of pacing back and forth in front of her – a triumphant, taunting movement - his gaze locked onto her face, a triumphant smirk upon his full lips. "Aren't ya wonderin' what I'm gonna do next, baby girlie?"

Refusing to reply, Hermione glued her eyes on her enemy and tensed-up, preparing for anything he might throw at her. Hopefully, it wouldn't be an Unforgivable Curse.

With a swift step forward, he pressed his body directly into hers. His nose touched down on her cheek as she turned her face at the last second. His snicker was cruel and calculated. "The Dark Lord'll give me _anythin' I want_ fer bringin' ya in to him. Yer his number one Christmas wish, ya see." His tongue snaked out and he actually licked her face. Hermione shuddered with disgust and fear. "He's gonna be so pleased ta see ya, lovely. So, _so_ pleased."

As he grabbed for her wounded hand, she kicked him in the shin as hard as she could and shoved him down. The pain in her wrist was incredible, nearly bringing her to her knees, but she managed to keep upright and ran. It didn't matter that he had her wand and would most likely hit her with a spell in the back to incapacitate her somehow. The need to flee outweighed every other consideration just then, and she gave into it full-heart.

"Ya stupid bint!" Scabior shouted at her, and she could just visualize him raising her own wand to use against her…

The sound of a dog growling and Scabior screaming behind her made her quickly turn her head to look over her shoulder.

Cormac!

The wolf had the Snatcher's arm and was tearing it to shreds, jerking back and forth with a ferocity meant to rend flesh and break bone. Scabior was screaming and hitting Cormac on the head and neck, trying in vain to break the hold the animal had on him.

Something within her made her stop and turn back. Cormac needed her. If Scabior stopped panicking and traded wand hands…

Just as she feared would happen, the Dark Lord's servant remembered he was a wizard, not just a man, and grabbed the wand still held in a tight clasp in his right hand with his left. He pointed it right at Cormac's head.

_No!_ she thought, that awful premonition she'd been having for days about McLaggen dying for her leaping to the forefront. _Not like this!_

Pure terror gave her that extra burst of speed she needed. It was enough. She slammed into Scabior as he called out the spell and it went off – a bright green flash, just as she'd feared. The _Avada_ hit the ground instead, exploding a small pile of damp leaves on the forest floor into the air. Struggling to grab onto him, to prevent him from casting again, she pressed her body down over his wand hand.

In retrospect, it had been a foolish move.

"_Lacero_," he called out the Cutting Curse, and she felt her side open up.

Hermione screamed at the sharp pain and went lax. It was enough for Scabior – whose arm was still being gnawed upon by Cormac – to shove her off and point his wand at the wolf.

It was a second too late for him, however, as McLaggen let go of his hold of the Snatcher's arm and went for the open throat. From inches away, Hermione watched in horrified shock as Cormac bit down and tore out the man's larynx with a whip of his head. Hot blood splattered all over her face and she closed her lids to prevent it from getting in her eyes.

The awful sound of Scabior's gurgling gasps only lasted a minute, maybe two. Then, they went thankfully silent.

Crying from the terrible pain she was in, Hermione had no mind for checking on her companion's health, or to even assure that the Snatcher King was dead. Her side was on fire as if a thousand, scalding needles were poking her all at once. Her wrist had gone numb, thankfully. Her lungs felt grated by her rush to return to the fight.

Magic tingled on the air, and then Cormac was there, turning her over very gently. She whimpered at the sting and the hot rush of fresh blood that leaked from the open wound.

"Shite," she heard him profane. "Granger, don't move."

Vaguely aware of her surroundings, she tried to shake her head to focus on the canopy of the trees above her as she lay flat on her back. Everything began to blur. "Cor," she sniveled around a hiccupping sob. Her tongue was swollen and hot from having accidentally bitten down on it during the fight. "I'm… I can't… stay… awake."

"Try, Hermione," he begged, and she felt him cast magic upon her. "I'm not strong in healing magic – offensive's more my thing. I can close this, but the blood loss and broken wrist… I have to take you back to Blessington. You need medical attention."

Every other word seemed far away, and the more he talked, the more it seemed he was shouting at her down a long, echoing tunnel. "Cor? Don't let me… I… don't wanna die. So close…"

His sweaty palm on her forehead was steady. "I won't. Promise. I'm taking you to your Malfoy. Just hang on."

The need to draw air into her lungs was slowly fading. "Dra…co…" she murmured in delirium as he lifted her into his arms.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (three o'clock P.M.)**_

Their plans in place for tomorrow's – actually, tonight's, since it was all going down at just before midnight – poisoning of the Dark Lord's servants within the castle, the break-out of the prisoners (made possible now with Angelina's help and Fred's wand), and their escape – the three conspirators decided to take a rest. It was going to be a long night, and they'd need all their strength to pull this off.

With Fred unconscious, tied up and Silenced, the room locked with magic and Muffled, Angelina transfigured one of the two pillows in the room into a mattress, which she lay down on the floor next to her husband, and curled up to sleep. The woman had been through hell – literally – and was exhausted. She was out within minutes. Phil covered her with a transfigured blanket, and then did the same for their prisoner.

He turned to his witch and gave her a thorough once-over to assure she genuinely was alright, as she insisted. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, her eyes unfocused. He could tell her mind was turning over the plan, however, because she was rhythmically tapping her wand against her thigh in a gesture attributed to the truly pensive and restless. Physically, she seemed unharmed after her harrowing adventure – taken without him, a fact that made him cross – but mentally… it had to have done something to her to have to kill someone, and to have found her brother had been converted to the side of evil.

Taking the seat next to her, Phil offered her support in the only way he knew: he took her hand in his and held it in a firm grip. "We've planned this one to death, freckles. We've covered our bases as best we can. With luck, it'll all work out."

Her frown lowered even further. "It's the unknowns that worry me – like when or if Lord Mort will actually come to attend the revel tonight or not. If he does, we're screwed." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I want you to take the cloak with you down to the kitchen."

He'd anticipated she'd make the offer and shook his head. "I'm known around here as Macnair's trusted disciple. No one will question me. You and Angelina are going to need it. You can't be seen until the right moment."

Glancing down at their entwined fingers, she sighed. "Promise me that you'll be careful. Promise… you won't die."

He waved his wand about their bed – funny how he thought of it as theirs now, not his – creating a bubble of Silence about it. These types of charms he was good at; he'd practiced them enough times back in school in his dorm room, as his roommates had been randy sons of bitches. "I can promise the first," he compromised, setting his wand on the small bedside table. "But we're all taking a chance tonight. Anything could happen. We both have to be prepared." Reaching up, he smoothed some hair behind her ear and gently ran his fingers over her jaw. "So… I want you to know something, Ginny, just in case: you're the best thing that's happened to me in a _really_ long time. You've given me a reason to keep fighting, instead of trying to die. And, if we both make it out of here tonight, I want to keep seeing you. I don't want this to end. I hope… well, that you feel the same."

Her eyes flooded with tears and she threw herself into his arms, planting her lips on his with desperation.

Phil had wanted to take his time, but they were both desperate to connect. It went unspoken that this might be the last time for either of them, separately or together, and so their passion burned hot. They made love with a reckless desperation that was loud and rocked the bed, and made him thank Merlin that he'd cast the Silencing Charm around them. The culmination came much too quickly, but it was more than satisfying.

As his fiery, redheaded lover lay asleep in his arms after - tucked snug under the blankets with him - he held her with the calm, accepting assurance that he felt absolutely no regret for any of the decisions that had led him to this point. If things went badly for them tonight, at least he'd had this much. He would never regret making Ginny Weasley his.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (a bit past three o'clock P.M.)**_

Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that she was being carried by someone strong, who was apparently hurrying as fast as his feet could travel. His lungs were panting with the strain.

"Dra…co," she whimpered.

The man holding her adjusted her weight in his arms. "Hold on, Granger. We're almost to the bridge."

Something didn't sound right about that. Couldn't they just have used… "Magic?" she asked.

The man – _was that Cormac?_ - huffed. "Too risky to Side-Along with your injuries. We've had to do this the old-fashioned way." He gave a wheezing laugh. "I finally see the design benefits of a Centaur: speed of a horse, strength of an ox, and arms to carry loads. Next time, I learn how to transfigure into that form instead."

"Okay," she tiredly murmured, feeling her consciousness hovering on the brink of wakefulness and oblivion. "Cor… I'm… so tired."

"Try to stay awake, Hermione," he pleaded. "We're coming up on the bridge."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (a bit past three o'clock P.M. – same time)**_

"Where the fuck is Longbottom?" Draco snarled.

Neville was late. It shouldn't have taken him this long to get everything packed and march his arse over to the bridge – thirty minutes at most.

"Shall I…?" Stretton began, but stopped, his attention drawn to something on the far side of the bridge. His eyes narrowed. "Someone's spotted us."

A buzzing began in the back of Draco's head – something wholly animal, an instinct he didn't know he'd possessed. To his surprise, the wolf within him sat up and took notice of the barely distinguishable shape on the other side of the Reservoir.

"Go look," he commanded his Scout, a sudden nervousness gripping his chest.

With a nod, Stretton shifted into his leopard form, and in leaps and bounds, he was flying down the bridge at a speed no human could have paced. Half way, he stopped on a knut and lifted his feline nose into the air, scenting. Even from across the distance, Draco could hear the growl that emanated from the animal's chest.

"Well, that's not good," Weasley dryly commented next to him, shifting with his wand held tight in his hand.

In a flash and a pop, Stretton Apparated back to their side, fully human. "It's the Captain."

Draco's head swung around and before he could check the moment, he started forward, his heart leaping into his throat. Stretton's hand on his arm – surprisingly strong – pulled him back. "I smell blood, and someone's holding her like she's injured. I don't recognize him or his scent, though. Definitely male – both man and animal. Something canine." He shook his head in troubled confusion, staring down the length of the cement monstrosity that crossed the water. "I don't know. The smells were too far away, and all tangled up. He could be a Were."

"Or maybe he's an Animagus who turns into a dog or a wolf," Charlie offered.

"A lycan or a wizard, then," Draco stated and sighed. "Either way, she's hurt."

As he stepped forward again, Stretton held him back once more, and this time, it was Draco's rumbling warning that vibrated through the air. The wolf in him wanted out, wanted to go to its… to _her._

"It could be a trap," Jeremy warned. "Something's off. It doesn't feel right. Just wait."

"Hate to say it, but I'm with him," Weasley agreed, tossing a thumb in Stretton's direction. "Neville's disappeared and Granger just shows up out of nowhere after two months, hurt. It's almost like bait to draw us out. We need a plan."

It was sound advice. Draco knew it was. But it was hard to ignore his instincts. He practically vibrated with the need to go to her.

He blew air out between his clenched teeth and struggled to rein in the magical energies that rioted around inside his body. His mind turned over the facts, and he came up with a scheme on the fly. "Stretton, put that animal nose of yours to the ground and go find Neville back in town, A.S.A.P. Once you do, Apparate the both of you around before heading back to camp. If you run into problems, send your Patronus."

Jeremy nodded, and turned back towards the town. In a smooth shimmering of a true Animagus, the guy shifted back to animal form and took off with grace and speed.

He addressed his remaining companion. "You and I are going to Apparate across and take our friend by surprise. Wand at the ready. Try not to kill. I want answers."

"Right," Charlie agreed.

He gripped his wand tighter in his perspiring palm. "Ready? Now!"

In a pop, they disappeared from one end of the bridge… only to end up on the other side, their wands already pointed at the dark-cloaked man who was holding Hermione in his arms. In a quick glance, Draco noted that she was definitely injured, as her jacket was covered with blood and she was much too pale, her eyelids fluttering with pain.

His eyes rose to meet those of her captor or savior – whichever the case may be…

Fury rose up like black diamond fire before his vision, clouding his mind of all rationality upon its initial recognition of the man before him. All of that pent-up magical energy that had been bouncing about behind his ribs, grew instantly excited and sought freedom any way it could. It rushed down his form and through his feet into the ground, causing it to shake. It poured from his mouth in waves of festering, inky shadows as his roar of outrage split the sky, dissipating over the water. Tendrils of dark magic stretched out from his chest with greedy, skeletal fingers towards his greatest enemy…

"Stop," Weasley commanded, gripping his wand arm. "You'll hit Granger! Fuck, you're gonna alert Mort at this rate. Tone it down, Malfoy!"

McLaggen looked him square in the eye, unafraid of the wand prepared to splatter his brains all over the road, unmoved by the creeping magic that headed straight for his heart to squeeze and crush it. "A Snatcher injured her," he stated very calmly. "It's bad. She needs help, but shouldn't be Apparated in her condition. I don't know how to heal this." He stared Draco down with a half-ruined, resigned face. "I brought her to you, like I promised her I would. Now save her. Please."

It was the 'please' that drew him back into his own soul, as the sentiment startled him.

_Mobilicorpus,_he thought the spell and sent the magic out, pulling with force to tug her out of McLaggen's arms and into his. As if she'd been _Accio'_d, Hermione flew the distance between them and was in his hold in the blink of an eye.

Just touching her was enough to soothe his rampaging ferocity, and the magical flow pouring off of him pulled back or dissolved in mid-air. The energy through his legs dissipated and the earth stopped shaking. Like a flipped switch, he was back in control.

His enemy's narrowed eyes met his gaze across the dozen or so feet between them, as if he were seriously contemplating what he'd just witnessed. He made no overt move to reach for a wand or to run. He didn't Apparate when he could easily have done so. What was he waiting for? Had Stretton been right – was this a trap of some kind?

"Weasley, he's mine to kill," Draco stated a mite too calmly for what he'd just experienced. His ears rang with a hollow, tinny sound, and his heart thumped like a wild thing under his breast, but his mind was oddly clear.

The Death Eater-Tracker seemed unconcerned by such a bald pronouncement. In fact, he seemed almost self-assured that the threat wouldn't be carried out.

"N-n-no." Hermione's voice was so feeble, and she panted, shaking in his arms. "Cor…saved…me. He… saved me."

Weasley hissed. "What the fuck did she say?" He glanced over at their enemy. "_You_?"

McLaggen merely nodded once.

"You lying bastard," Charlie snarled. "You expect us to believe that after what you did to her?"

That was right; Weasley had been given the run-down on what had occurred at The Madam's House – including Hermione's fate at McLaggen's hands. Draco had heard through the Zabini grapevine that the man hadn't taken it well, as Granger was like a little sister to him in some ways. His protectiveness of her was admirable – if unnecessary, as she already had a protector.

"Tr…ue, saved m-me," Hermione stammered, turning her head into his chest. "Draco…" Shuddering against him, she found the strength to look up at him, her head limply tilting back. "Th-thank… God." She started weakly crying. "Oh, Draco."

His heart was a mass of bleeding, raw pain as he took her in. She looked terrible, like she'd been bare-fist fighting. There was blood all over her, smudges of it on her cheek and her hands. One of her wrists dangled at an odd angle, indicating it was probably broken. She looked exhausted and pale, and her hair was a mess, with leaves and small twigs caught in it.

And he loved her, irrevocably and eternally.

Stepping back, he cradled her to his cheek, trusting that Weasley had McLaggen covered. "I'm here, Granger. I'm taking you home with me."

She fell into unconsciousness, whispering his name.

McLaggen shifted. "For weeks, you've been the only thing on her mind, you know. Getting back to you has been her one obsession."

"Just shut the fuck up," Weasley barked. "_Silencio. Incarcerous Ferrum._" McLaggen fell to his knees as the heavy weight of iron chains wrapped about his body, and he was effectively banned from bespelling them away with a verbal command. "Consider yourself bloody lucky that I don't _Stupefy_ or _Avada_your arse. Now just sit there until we get this sorted." The ginger-head wizard turned to him. "I know a good share of healing spells. Let me have a look at her."

The moment his companion stepped towards them, the wolf inside of Draco reared up and snarled with displeasure at the thought of someone touching his mate, no matter the reason. He clasped Hermione tighter to him and bared his teeth with menace.

Weasley paused in mid-step and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Easy there, mate. I'm on your side."

Damn, but he was right. Draco knew he'd been spending too much time in animal form lately, jumping about looking for Hermione, trying to track her by scent since sight wasn't working. That glaring error was only made worse by the fact that he could sense a _lupa_ - a she-wolf – deep within the heart of the woman in his arms… which meant she'd recently transfigured into that form. Once more, he felt that familiar pull to pack and to play the part of alpha, just as he had experienced with Greengrass, only this was_infinitely_ stronger.

"Malfoy, she doesn't look so good," his companion brought him back to the immediate danger. "Let me help her."

Clamping down on his instinctual over-protectiveness, Draco knelt down and arranged Granger so that her head was elevated across his lap as Weasley moved to take the zip down on her jacket. The hot, metallic scent of blood permeated the air as the two sides were pulled apart. Her torso was covered in sticky, drying blood, her jumper ruined for it.

With a single thought, Draco stretched forth his magical aura to embrace that darker magic again as it continued to hover about the edges of his own essence, and used it to_Scourgify_ Hermione's entire body, head to toe. In a blink, the blood, dirt, leaves and twigs were gone, and her hair was clean and untangled.

Charlie glanced up at him with wary suspicion. "I hope that was you."

Draco nodded, rubbing at his left eye, which inexplicably pained him. The vision in it briefly wavered.

Lifting the hem of her shirt, Weasley pulled up the fabric. The skin was bruised, and there was a thin, pink scar on the left side that traveled the length of her lower abdomen to the bottom of her ribs. It had split back open in the middle, and fresh blood was bubbling up. Another scar started just under the curve of her bra and headed down and around to her back. That one was pink as well, although clearly not as new by the color. He ran a finger over it as far as he could, and 'felt' the magic.

"Same caster," he stated, running his finger along the new scar and tracing it, recognizing the residual magic as coming from the same wand and the same wizard.

His partner nodded, as Charlie used his wand to re-stitch the other and close it once and for all. "I sense the aura," he admitted and looked over his shoulder at McLaggen. "It's definitely his. He healed her – twice." The guy then ran a medical check over her with another spell that Draco remembered Madam Pomfrey having once used on him after a rather awful Quidditch match, and found Granger's dangling wrist was indeed broken. It was swollen and already bruising an ugly color. Charlie sighed. "I can mend it, but she's going to need some of that Skele-Gro you swiped on your recent Mungo's raid. Good thing she's out, because this is gonna hurt like a bitch."

He cast the spell to bring the bones back together and to freeze them in place. Hermione wouldn't be able to use the hand until the bone was actually knitted by that foul-tasting potion back at camp, but at least it wouldn't remain flopping about.

That done, Charlie placed his hand on her forehead and closed his eyes in concentration. There was a strange magical shift in the air – just a tiny push, but Draco felt it. He grabbed the man's extended arm and held it tight in silent warning.

"Just easing her pain by calming her aura," he explained. "It's sort of like giving her a pain potion. I do this for Fay whenever she feels nauseated or gets a headache, so she won't have to take any medicines or draughts that could unintentionally hurt the baby." The man sat back, extricating his arm from Draco's grip, and wiped the sweat from his brow and upper lip. "I'm learning how to control these aura manipulation powers by trying to channel the sexual magic into other types of magic. Fay came up with the idea. Healing seems to come easiest." He nudged his chin down at the inert woman at their feet. "We should wake her and get moving. It's too dangerous to be out in the open like this. Besides, we still need to find Neville." He looked over at their captive audience, who was watching and listening with rapt attention. "And decide what to do about him."

Draco passed his hand over Hermione's face and shoved magic into the incantation to make it work. "_Ennervate._"

Long lashes fluttered once, twice, and opened. Hermione blinked several times to focus, and then a crease appeared in the center of her brow as if she didn't believe what she was seeing.

"Found you, my witch," he spoke low, gentle, wanting to ease her concerns, feeling a relief bloom in his chest now that she was back at his side where she belonged. "Finally."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (thirty past three o'clock P.M. – same time)**_

Jeremy was pinned down inside the old church he'd visited earlier, crouched behind the altar at the front, _praying_to find a way out of this predicament. Now if that wasn't the irony of the century, he didn't know what would be.

Outside, he'd counted at least twelve to fifteen Snatchers before shutting the big wooden doors behind him and sealing them off with magic. No Death Eater masks or cowls had been amongst the throng, so he didn't think the elite force had been sent out to this backwater town. However, the fact that all of the Snatchers were wizards – not Muggles – really sucked as it meant they would be able to defend against his attacks.

The minute he'd padded back into the town, a Caterwauling Charm had gone off, recognizing him as a wizard and throwing up the alarm. That little security feature hadn't been there when they'd left not an hour before. Obviously, he and his friends had been made by some spy in the town's ranks, and their imminent return had been expected - which meant, they most likely were holding Neville captive.

He'd made it up the abandoned, entirely-too-silent Main Street, only to be confronted near the church. It had been a fierce battle of hastily thrown hexes and curses at that point, as he'd run his arse into the nearest building, looking for cover so he'd have time to think up a plan.

Now, he was trapped, as the Snatchers were banging with spells to get through the door. Absently, he wondered why they didn't just go through the windows.

_Smart, Jeremy. You're trapped like a rat and worried about the state of the stained glass._

His Vampirius came to the forefront, recognizing the danger.

_Killlllll,_ it seethed.

_Yeah, yeah, I know,_ he snarked at the thing in his head. _Any other brilliant ideas, aside from the obvious?_

It seemed to take only a moment to truly consider the situation. _Mateeeee,_ it called out_._

_What the fuck?_ he asked. Why the hell was his other half thinking of sex at a time like this? They had more important things to worry about.

_MATESSSSSS!_it screamed, and that's when everything went straight to Hell.

The wooden doors exploded inward, forced by a combined _Bombarda Maxima_ spell from outside. His quickly cast _Protego_was the only thing that kept him from getting some nasty splinters, as pieces flew throughout the room in every direction at high velocity. Snatchers crowded through the entrance, firing off spells.

Using his Vampiric strength, Jeremy flipped the large marble slab altar onto its side and used it for cover, continuing to cast Shield Charm after Shield Charm, and ducking around it on occasion to throw out a curse or hex. _We are so fucked,_ he thought to his other half, noticing on the last peek out that there were ten Snatchers in the room, hiding behind pews, and a couple of dead bodies in the middle of the aisle.

Well, at least there were two less lonely people in the world now.

_No time for jokes,_ he had to remind himself. Sometimes, his sense of humor was twisted and quite bizarre, especially in the midst of a life or death situation. He wondered if he wasn't cracking up.

He peeked around the barrier again. Yep, still ten of them out there. Right, so his choices were now limited. He'd tried Apparating away already, but something was preventing that from happening in here. He assumed that meant the enemy had put up Anti-Apparition wards around the building. He was down to fight or flee on foot. He could change into animal form, and run his bum off, hoping his leopard form was fast enough for him to go through a window without being hit. Or, he could let his Vampirius free to rage and kill – a good alternative, as it could take some serious damage before going down. Or, he could sit here and keep picking them off one at a time until they wore down his Shield Charm and destroyed his barricade. With that last option, maybe he'd get really lucky and ping them all before they could nail him. One could dream, right?

Shite, he was most likely going to die today.

He thought of Will and Su.

No, he couldn't die. He had two very good reasons to live. It was time to take his chances and flee.

He threw a hex at the closest window, smashing it open. Colored glass rained down on the unfortunate sap standing too close. Jeremy took distinct pleasure in hearing the man's frightened and pained screams as he was cut by large, sharp pieces. _Show time,_ he thought to his monster friend, tensing up and preparing to launch himself from behind the barrier.

Just as he was about to morph and make a break for it, the spells being thrown against his magical barrier suddenly stopped. Someone shrieked in surprise, but his breath was cut off with an audible crunch of bone. Another yelped before his cry transformed into the burbling, wet, gasping noise consistent with his throat being torn open. Jeremy risked a glance around the marble altar to find out who the cavalry were.

Standing without fear in the middle of the blasted doorway was Willem.

Only, it wasn't him. Not really.

It was an honest to Jim, Wrath-of-God-type angel wearing Will's face.

There was no other way to say it: he was _absolutely beautiful._His chest was bare, his furious eyes were a glowing, molten gold that shone in the dim light of the church, his worn jeans were tight across his hips… and he had a pair of large, white wings attached to his back that fluttered as his shoulder muscles tensed and bunched. He looked like some sort of avenging, holy warrior sent by Heaven to smite the wicked.

Absently, Jeremy wondered if maybe he'd been wrong about the whole God thing after all.

From behind, Su approached with assured step and took up her spot at Will's side, tossing away the dead man she'd dragged behind her with a casual fling of her arm. She'd ripped the head off of her victim - literally. Her mouth was coated with dark, cherry-colored blood and her eyes were a matching red; her Vampirius had taken control. With a throaty, sensual laugh, she tossed her long, black hair over one shoulder and stepped into the room, equally as unafraid of all the wands trained on her as Will seemed to be. In that moment, she looked every bit the powerfully, sexy predator she was; a true demoness, risen from the depths of Hell.

His two mates moved in tandem with amazing speed to each take a side and finish off the enemy while Jeremy stood like a bloody moron gawking at their perfect dichotomy. When the first man fell, however, he snapped to and rushed out from behind his shelter to cast spell after spell to protect the ones he loved from Snatcher fire, while his mates killed with brutal efficiency.

When it was done, only the three of them remained standing, and the church, he wryly thought, would need a serious scrubbing and a re-consecration ceremony to make it holy and usable again.

Su was the first to reach him, stumbling across the floor to throw her arms about him. "_Baeuja._" Jeremy dropped his nose to her neck and nuzzled her as a tumble of Korean words flowed from her lips that he didn't understand. She'd taken down at least five of the remaining ten Snatchers all on her own, and he was so proud of her that he was near to bursting with the need to swing her around and soundly kiss her. She was crying, and it felt like the best victory he'd had in a very long time…

…but then her knees buckled and she collapsed, and Jeremy's guts sank into his feet. The chain that held their souls tethered together fell slack, and weakened, and he _knew _she was dying.

Will was there in an instant to help him ease her to the floor. At pretty much the same time, they spied the damage: she'd been stabbed, and the knife was still embedded in her chest, the handle indicating the wound was close to her heart.

"Oh, God," Jeremy sobbed, an icy fear gripping his chest. "No, no, no!"

In his head, his Vampirius was screaming much the same. It was losing its fucking mind at the thought of its mate slipping away.

"We have her, our mate," Willem stated, his voice a strange conflux of tones. It was his lover's voice, but there was also someone else overlaid on top – a female counterpart. "We will take her back to camp and see her treated. Come." With an easy pull of strength and a flaring of those gorgeous wings, Will made his feet, holding up and protecting Su within his powerful arms. "We cannot Apparate in or out of this building. We must go outside."

Despairing, Jeremy followed his mates outside to the front steps. _Do something,_ he begged his internal monster. _Like you did for Will after Kirkwall. Save her!_That bestial side of him began flowing life energy into Su through the thin ribbon that connected them, and he reached out to touch Will's arm as they prepared to Apparate together back to camp. His other mate was closed off to him, concentrating his own life force into Su, too. They would both give the woman they loved all they had if it meant her survival, he knew.

The unexpected Stunning Spell that came out of left field and slammed into his abdomen knocked Jeremy back into the building, but not out for the count as it had intended. He was never so grateful of his Vampire heritage than he was in that moment, for its strength was twice that of a normal man, and he managed to hold onto consciousness, even as he pushed himself upright again.

He glanced in the direction of the spell… Shite, another dozen or so Snatchers were bearing down on them from street-side!

It took only a second to make his decision. "Get outside the wards. Take her and go," he commanded his best friend, allowing his enraged Vampire its freedom. "Do whatever you have to, Will. Just don't let her die."

With that, he flew down the stairs and into a bloodlust-rage the likes of which he'd never unleashed. A red haze settled over everything as he let his Vampire fully take over his body for the first time. In a glorious rush of dark power, his Vampirius loosed its true demonic nature, and seduced his soul with its chaotic desire for death and destruction. The first man fell under his Vamp fangs, while he broke the neck of the next with an easy twist of his hand. There was no higher rationality, only animal instinct, as the monster he was cut a wide path of through the enemy's ranks, moving faster than the normal eye could track. He was enthralled by the creation of such carnage.

Standing alone in the middle of the street minutes later, bodies - and pieces of bodies - strewn everywhere about him, he sought his next victim with an almost sinister glee. He found it in the face of Fenrir Greyback, who stood on the opposite side of the street, waiting for him. The two monsters locked gazes, traded snarls and hissing taunts, and then rushed to meet head-on in a clash of limbs and fists.

Despite his greater magical abilities and strength, Jeremy soon realized that he was no match for the alpha werewolf. Greyback was faster, more powerful, older and much more experienced. He tried Apparating right out from under the big guy, but someone had been clever enough to set up those same Anti-Apparition wards around this section of the street – probably Fenrir, anticipating this battle.

Well, then… it was only a matter of time. He'd go down swinging, though.

At least his two mates had gotten to safety.

He knew the instant he'd fucked up, throwing a punch that reached too far. Fenrir ducked under it and body checked Jeremy into the pavement. When his head was slammed into the ground with a force meant to crack his skull, he knew it was done.

His last thought as darkness claimed him was of Willem, and his beautiful, white wings.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Please review!**

**A million times 'thank you again' to my fabulous beta, Unseenlibrarian, without whom this story wouldn't be nearly so polished or fun to write. She got this chapter done in the middle of a hurricane, against the odds, and in record time. Please be sure to thank her in your reviews, if you enjoyed this chapter!**

**I envision Scabior's accent from the novels for this fic (not the movie version of him), and to me, it comes across as a Southeast England/East London accent (close to a Cockney accent – similar to Ron's from the movie). He is not Irish, despite the similarities in spelling in this fic. When you're typing out casual, "common tongue" discussion, it tends to look the same and is hard to distinguish. Try to hear it in your head as intended, though.**


	29. Ch 27: Finding You

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Thank you once more, UNSEENLIBRARIAN, for a fabulous beta job! **

**Any mistakes are on my head.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: **_**FINDING YOU**_

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (thirty-five past three o'clock P.M.)**_

"_Found you, my witch. Finally."_

Draco's words rolled through her like a hot wind. Hermione felt her face flush, and her cheeks bloom crimson. Her lips – recently chapped and caked by blood, but now strangely smooth and pink again, perhaps due to a cleaning spell – parted in a relieved smile.

Slowly, she lifted her uninjured hand to his face, desperate to touch him. How she'd dreamed of this moment for weeks… He tilted his head down to meet her trembling fingertips with his cheek. She touched him everywhere then, tracing his jaw, his chin, his lips, his nose, and the scar over his left side, needing confirmation that he was truly here with her. The instant she believed it, her eyes filled with scalding tears that caused everything to waver in her vision. They spilled over her cheeks to dampen her hairline.

"I found you, too."

His silvery gaze tightened with pain and he nodded.

"There's someone on the other side of the bridge staring at us," Charlie stated, shoving Draco's arm and indicating with a nod of his head down the road, back towards Blessington. "And now he's running away."

Malfoy turned his head. Hermione couldn't see past his body, however, to determine the danger. Whatever Draco saw had him tensing.

"Stop him."

Charlie Disapparated away with a pop.

"We need to move," he told her, all business, composing his features into that familiar enigmatic mask he typically wore. He shifted, preparing to stand, and took her uninjured hand to help her to her feet. "Neville's missing, Stretton's gone after him, and Blessington is filled with servants for the Dark."

"What?" she hissed, wobbling a bit as she made her feet, slightly disoriented and a little weak – drained, actually, but otherwise unharmed. He supported her with an arm about her waist. The crack of spells going off at a distance echoed off the water.

"Dublin's fallen," he continued his explanation. "Mort's been subjugating towns and cities since you've been gone, just as Theo said he would. It's only a matter of time before he marches in and forces the Mark on all of these people."

Charlie reappeared with a pop a few feet away. He was out of breath and red-faced, but otherwise fine. "A Snatcher. Lost him. He Disapparated once he got to the edge of the wood."

Malfoy nodded. "We have to go. He'll report us to his superiors."

"Wait, I feel funny," she said, gripping her belly. It was a tad queasy - similar to how it had felt after Cormac had futzed with her magical aura back at the cottage. "No pain, but a bit… off. What did you do to me?"

"I fixed your aura a bit," Charlie informed her with a grin and a twirl of his wand. "It's one of my new talents. The pain's still there, but masked for now. In an hour or so, it's going to fade and hurt like hell, though. You'll want to be on some sort of potion by then." He stepped forward and touched her arm with an affectionate, brotherly pat. "Welcome back, honey."

Her eyes prickled with tears. Yes, she was back with those she loved. Somehow, she'd made it, despite all the odds.

"No time for sentiment," Draco reminded them, his tone bleak. "We've got serious problems." His gaze swung over her shoulder and his face grew pinched with anger.

She turned her head in the direction of his focus, and caught McLaggen's current predicament.

"Hell," she sighed. There might not be a lot of time to clarify the situation, but _something _had to be said to keep them from killing him. "Right, so here's the deal with him: long story short, Cormac's not evil anymore," she quickly explained to her two companions. "You're going to have to trust me on that. I can explain it all back at camp. Suffice to say, he saved my life more times than necessary, and none of the things he did before were his fault. He was under a very powerful conversion spell cast by Mort. Apparently, the Dark Lord's been twisting people inside out for the last two years. Cor was as much a victim as anyone he was forced to kill or harm while under the influence of that dark magic. He's sorry for all of it, and he wants to help us to get his revenge."

The two men beside her were silent for long seconds as the weight of that bomb went off and the fallout hit.

"You're kidding me," Charlie finally broke the stalemate, sounding quite incredulous. "He's _sorry_ - for helping to kill millions, destroying the world, and, oh yeah, _raping you?_ And you're letting him off that easy?"

She turned back to Ron's older brother and frowned. "No, it was _not_ easy for me to forgive him, Charlie. But over the last seven-almost-eight weeks, I've had to accept the truth: no one – not you, not me - could have fought off Mort's conversion magic. It twisted his mind around, convincing him that everything he'd loved was to be destroyed, and everything he hated was to be revered. As a fellow Gryffindor, can you imagine what that must have done to the part of him that knew what was wrong and couldn't stop it? Since throwing off the spell, he's done all he could to take back the real Cormac, by protecting me and assuring I got home to you. He's worked hard to atone for all of it." She turned the argument over to the practical benefits of accepting him, knowing how men's minds worked. "Besides, he's got a lot of information about Mort's network stored in his head. _And_, he can teach us the Unmentionable Curses. He's a powerful ally."

Somewhere in the middle of her rebuttal, Draco let her go and stepped back. She felt the loss of his warmth like a slam to her gut, and the mistrust in his steely eyes was a stab to her heart. It wasn't as if she hadn't expected this type of reaction from him and her friends, but it still sucked to be on the receiving end of it.

She took a deep, sanity-establishing breath and let it out slow. "Look, I know how it all sounds, but I'm telling you that everything I've said is the truth. This is really me – not some doppelganger or Polyjuice disguise, and this" – she pointed to McLaggen, who was on his knees waiting for the verdict as to whether he'd live or die now – "is really what's going on. Mort's upped the ante, and what Cor faced, all of those people living in the subjugated towns and cities you mentioned are now facing the same dark magic. The conversions are en masse, too, meaning the Dark Lord's figured out a way to do them quicker than ever. We're talking potentially hundreds of new spies made weekly for his side. We need all the help we can get. McLaggen is an ace up our sleeve. He's physically and magically strong, and he has a reason to hate the enemy as much as any of us."

Malfoy shook his head. "He _is_ the enemy - a Tracker with spells we don't know anything about. If he's as good as our spy was back in Kirkwall, he could be manipulating you."

"Sorry Captain, but our General here makes a good point," Charlie stated. "I'll take it even further: if McLaggen was converted, how do we know _you_ haven't been, too? You've been gone weeks."

She held up her hands. "Fair enough. Let me think of a way to prove it." Her mind whirled over ideas, but only three possible solutions presented themselves. "Shite, I don't have any Veritaserum. I don't suppose either of you…?" Twin head shakes dashed that hope. "Damn it, why don't we have a Pensieve at camp either? We really need one of those." She took a deep breath and let it out. "Bloody hell, Legilimency's the only way, isn't it?" The option was a last, desperate gamble, as she hated the idea of anyone invading her mind. Still, they had to learn the truth, and this was the quickest way. Swallowing back her trepidation, she nodded, looking right at Draco. "Right then, hit me with it."

Malfoy, knowing she was afraid of mind-magic of any kind, narrowed his eyes at her capitulation.

"Just do it, before I lose my nerve," she growled.

He raised his wand and pointed it at her face. Instead of what she'd expected, however, he called out a completely different set of spells that caught her off-guard.

"_Silencio. Incarcerous. Abolocus."_

Like Cormac, she was felled to her knees, but was spared the humiliation of chains; rope kept her arms and upper legs effectively pinned together instead. Her voice and her sight were sealed away, however.

The message was clear: she wasn't to be trusted.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (ten minutes to four o'clock P.M.)**_

"If she's telling the truth, it would be a mistake to kill the fucker," Charlie pointed out the obvious as he stared over at McLaggen. The wizard in question impassively met his gaze.

From his peripheral vision, he could see their fearless leader considering everything he'd learned, turning it over for strategy in that sharp mind of his, and quickly coming to a decision.

Malfoy pointed his wand at the Tracker.

"_Abolocus._"

Immediately, McLaggen's eyes turned solid white, just as Hermione's had. He was now as blind as she.

"Fine, you take him," Draco instructed. "I'll take Granger. Can you jump at least three times before heading to camp with a passenger?"

Charlie mulled it over. Could he? He'd never done it before, but he felt confident that he could pull off a triple Apparition with a passenger. "Yeah, I think so."

The blond nodded. "Then go. I'll be a step behind."

He looked back down the bridge, towards Blessington, concerned for their companions. "Longbottom and Stretton?"

His commander-in-chief paused, and when he turned back to see why, he caught sight of Hermione carefully cradled in the other man's arms, her injured hand on the outside of his embrace so he didn't crush it with his body. Although she couldn't see because of Malfoy's spell, Granger was glaring up at her captor as if she still had her sight available. That all-white gaze, with the irises and pupils bled out, was seriously disconcerting. People's eyes shouldn't look like that.

"We'll come back for them," Malfoy promised. "I want these two secured first, and for Theo to take a look in their skulls for the truth."

Charlie looked over at their male prisoner, noting the guy's undaunted expression and the submissive set to his shoulders, and wondered how much of what Hermione had said was correct. He noted the acid-like scarring down the side of McLaggen's face and wondered what the hell had happened there, too. And when he looked with his aura powers, he noted the man's magical spirit was filled with sadness, regret, and the resignation of an inevitable death. That didn't seem to be the aura of a Death Eater, which was typically one of raging hate or cold psychosis. The Tracker was almost pitiable, as he seemed to have absolutely no hope burning in his soul.

Charlie had seen a lot of despairing people in this war over the years, but he'd never seen anyone so… so… _bleak_ in his entire life.

"Maybe we should just kill him and be done with it."

Granger's head violently swung back and forth at that and she impotently kicked out, opening her mouth. Nothing came out, but her lips moved in a resounding, "NO!"

"Stick to the plan," Malfoy commanded. "If I need to kill him later, I will."

Charlie sighed. He didn't like it, but he could see Hermione's point. If McLaggen had been skull-fucked by Mort, then what he'd done would have been no different than if he'd been _Imperius_'d. And the man did have very vital information romping around in that brain of his that they could use.

He made his way over behind the enemy and grabbed onto his shoulders, hauling him up. With an arm banded tight around the Tracker's middle, he prepared to jump. "Try anything and I'll make sure Malfoy tears you to pieces - nice and slow, too," he threatened in the man's ear.

Concentrating he focused his magical strength, and they Apparated to random parts around Britain, before heading back to their temporary home.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Just outside Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (four o'clock P.M.)**_

"Ready?" Draco asked, more rhetorical than anything else. He just wanted Granger to prepare her mind and body for jumping about.

She shook her head and elbowed him through the ropes. From the set of her features, she was storming mad at him for having magically bound, blindfolded and gagged her.

He couldn't help it – he began to chuckle. "I've missed your stubborn face," he admitted.

Her anger melted away the moment the words left his lips, and a deep, pained sorrow replaced it. She turned into the cradle of his neck and he could feel her small, wounded body shaking. The physical injuries might be dulled for now, but her emotions were as raw and as bloodied as her body had been. He wondered again what she'd been through over the last eight weeks…

Draco turned his mouth to her and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry for this, but you'd do no different in my place."

He felt her head nod, and she sniffed.

"Just let Theo have a look to make sure you're… uncompromised. I'd do it, but my Legilimency skills are like a bull in a china shoppe," he joked for her sake, hoping to make her feel a bit better. "We need to set your wrist, too." He gently adjusted her in his arms, beginning to feel her weight burn in his muscles. "Once you're well, though," – he dropped his lips to her ear and lowered his tone so that it was intimate and low, filled with unquestionable intent – "we'll have things to talk about, Hermione. Understand?"

She nodded, slower this time, and he heard her throat convulse in a swallow.

"Good. Now hold still, baby," he bid. "We have a few jumps to make before we're safe."

Grabbing hold of the dark strength that gathered in his chest, he channeled it and pushed. They Disapparated three times, before returning to camp.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (a bit past four o'clock P.M.)**_

Fay was worried. Charlie and the others had been gone for hours with no word. What could be taking them so long?

Although there was no evidence to support her feelings, her feminine intuition was screaming at her that something was wrong. Her chest was tight with a heightened anxiety, and she felt panicked. Tears welled in her eyes. She barely swallowed back an irrational desire to scream at someone to go and immediately find her fiancé.

"Charlie, come back to me," she whispered to the sky, rubbing her slightly thickened belly. There was no bump yet for her to caress, but she could feel the changes in her body, and knew in a few weeks, she would begin to lose her waistline. Their baby was growing fast.

With a shaky hand, Fay wiped the hot wet from her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. It was only the hormones, she knew. Her moods had been zipping from one extreme to the other over the past couple of weeks as her pregnancy progressed. Now, at almost nine weeks, she was a crazy mess…

…_and _she was nauseated again.

Goodness, but she hated that she couldn't be like most normal women and simply vomit only in the mornings! No, she had to be one of the lucky few who were sick all day, at random hours.

She'd attempted to use her own powers as a Sex-Witch to do the same healing trick that Charlie was learning to help calm her bouts of misery, but she found she couldn't work it on herself, only others, and then, her strength in it wasn't nearly as powerful as her fiancé's healing abilities. She'd been able to somewhat alleviate Penelope's pregnancy symptoms when the woman had come asking, but her own were persistent until her lover touched her. Then, nothing seemed to hurt, as there was only ever pleasure in his arms.

She felt the sudden presence of two familiar auras Apparating in at the edge of the wards. One was very weak, the other… Strange, she recognized it, and yet she didn't. It psychically "tasted" different across her tongue. Hurrying across the camp, she gripped her wand tight, and called those she met in passing to come with her to investigate. She and the small group made it as far as the tree line before they were met head-on by a literal angel carrying a very bloodied person in his arms.

"Willem?" she called out, faintly recognizing his aura. It flickered with a golden glow to her Sex-Witch senses.

Willem Bradley turned his head in her direction, his face a mask of helpless fear. "She is hurt," he spoke, but his voice was an odd conflux of his own masculine sound and a higher-pitched, feminine tone. "You must save her."

Penelope Clearwater stepped in front of them all, wand pointed at their transformed teammate. "What the hell did you do to Bradley?"

Fay put her hand on her friend's arm. "That _is_ Bradley," she affirmed. "I feel the familiar aura, but… he feels otherworldly as well. Like the Vampires, but different."

Golden eyes stared at her with desperation. "Take her. Save her. Our mate." He looked over his shoulder, back the way he had traveled. "He is in danger. We must go." When no one moved, he held out his arms. "_Please!_" he all but shouted, and the white wings attached to his back flared wide. "The enemy has attacked us. We must go!"

Terry Boot ran up and grabbed the wounded witch – was that Su? – from Willem's brawny arms.

"Save her," the big blond begged. "No matter what you must do, save her for us."

With that, he turned and ran with lightning speed back towards the edge of the Anti-Apparition wards. The moment his foot hit the edge, he was gone with a flash and a bang.

"The enemy has attacked us," Fay repeated Willem's warning to Penny. The two women looked at each other, and a silent message passed between them. "Go, find Blaise. I'll see to Su."

They split, and Fay ran to Terry's side. They met half-way, as he was running towards the medical tent, being careful not to jostle the woman in his arms too much. Fay fell into step at his side, using her abilities to sense Su's condition. Behind them, Penny's voice rang out giving instruction to the group.

"Careful," she cautioned Terry. "Don't jar her too much."

"I'm trying," the man muttered between gritted teeth. "Shite, she's leaking like a sieve all over the place. That's not good for a Vampire, yeah? It only makes them go berserk, right?"

Fay pressed her lips together, knowing the truth from her Defence Against the Dark Arts classes back in school. Terry was correct; if Su's Vampire side took over, it could kill them all to sate its need to replenish the blood it was losing. However, if she exerted her power over the woman, knocking her out by tweaking her aura just so, that might make it difficult for them to know where else she may be wounded. Pain was the body's way of telling you where something was wrong and without it, they'd be healing her blind.

Still, it was better to take the risk in this case, as a rabid Vampire was a dangerous thing.

Concentrating as they hurried into the medical tent, she forced Su's aura to change, hoping to alleviate the pain of her injuries, for the time being.

The Vampiress gave a cry of distress, and blinked as she came to sudden alert. Red eyes stared into Fay's soul. Fangs flashed. In a blink, the woman had Terry's neck between powerful fingers. He stopped just shy of the cot upon which he'd intended to lay down his burden.

Panicked, Fay used her power to grab at the angry red aura surrounding the Korean witch to stop her in her tracks. It was an instinctual move, unpracticed and clumsy, but it worked surprisingly well. As if she'd been immobilized, Su froze in place.

"Don't move," Fay warned them both, reaching very carefully to extricate Terry's neck from Su's fingers. Red eyes glared in hatred and hunger at her all the while. When he was free, Boot nearly dropped Su into the cot, scrambling back as far as he could. His wand appeared in his hand and with a shaky aim he pointed it at the Vampiress.

"Fuck!" he swore, rubbing his neck with his free hand. "I thought she'd rip it out."

"She definitely could have," Pansy confirmed, coming in from the side flap. She slapped Boot on the back. "I've seen her do it once. You got very lucky."

Fay nearly staggered under the weight of holding Su back. The concentration required was enormous, and it was beginning to cause her chest to compress. "Can someone please _Immobilize_ her, quickly?"

With a flourish and a wave of his wand, Terry cast a binding spell upon the injured Vampiress. Fay let go of the woman's aura as the magic took effect, and might have fallen to her knees had Pansy not been there to catch her. "I'm… okay," she stammered, as she was led to an adjacent cot. "Just winded. That took a lot out of me."

"How'd you do that, anyway?" Parkinson asked, watching carefully while Daphne Greengrass and Morag MacDougal attended to Su's injury.

Fay took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I grabbed her magical aura."

"With your Sex-Witch abilities?"

She nodded.

Pansy hummed, seeming impressed. "My mother used to do something very similar. She could control people through their auras. It was like using the Imperius Curse on them. She could get them to slit their own throats if she wanted."

"Really?" Fay asked, mulling that over. "How extraordinary."

In the back of her mind, an idea was beginning to form…

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (fifteen past four o'clock P.M.)**_

Charlie appeared at the edge of camp, just outside the wards. He was winded from a triple jump around the U.K., having had to stop each time to catch his breath. Hauling someone else with him over such great distances, even for someone of his magical strength, had taken a lot of energy. His knees were shaking.

With a firm grip on the back of McLaggen's jacket, he paused for a short breather.

His captive remained passive, unable to speak, run or use his hands. He almost seemed accepting of his fate… or maybe he was just cataloguing what he could with the senses left to him. If he was as clever as everyone assumed, he'd know by the smell and the fresh wind that blew past that they were in a park-like setting, and not in an inner city or township. How much could he know beyond that, though? He was a Tracker – had been Mort's Number One for the last two years. What type of knowledge did he have stored in his noodle?

The crack of an incoming Apparition signaled off to his left, and between one blink and the next, Malfoy and Granger were standing there.

His leader noticed him, but his legs were already carrying him and his precious cargo on towards the camp. Charlie used his wand to levitate Cormac, and dragged him behind by magic as he rushed to catch up.

"Shite, you're not tired at all, are you?" he made the observation as they hurried into camp.

Slytherin's former Prince shook his head, but kept his lips sealed. He seemed to be concentrating on avoiding holes and dips in the ground.

"Yeah, so where do you want me to secure him?" he asked, switching topics, since it was clear Malfoy didn't want to talk about his new, stronger abilities. He threw a thumb back over his shoulder at his floating prisoner. "Take him to Theo's tent or somewhere else?"

"War Tent," his fearless leader said. "Leave him as-is - chained and silenced. Stay with him 'til I get to you."

Charlie nodded. "Right."

They split at the edge of camp, Malfoy non-verbally Disillusioning himself and Granger, and heading off towards the medical tent. Charlie took McLaggen in the opposite direction. He ran into Blaise on the way.

"What the fuck is this?" the Italian demanded.

"Prisoner," he informed the guy. "Help me get him to the War Tent, and we'll talk more there. I'm to fill you in."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland & Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (twenty-five past four o'clock P.M.)**_

Will had returned to the spot where he'd been forced to leave Jeremy behind the moment he'd been able to Disapparate from the edge of the encampment, only to find an explosion of Snatcher corpses – pieces of them, anyway - lying in the street… and no mate in sight.

The Veela within him had gone into an outright panic at that point. It had screamed Jeremy's name, and launched him into the air, its great wings carrying him towards the far end of town down the main strip, searching for any signs. When it found none, it turned him about and angled back the way he'd come. By the time he'd reached the other end, he had to concede that there was no sign of his mate, and no mental tug to indicate he was anywhere close to finding him.

He flew over the buildings, going higher, hoping to see more from further up, but all he saw was an empty street – no pedestrians, no other types of movement, and all was as silent as the grave.

He headed back to the church and put his nose to the ground, trying to sniff out clues.

When he passed over a particularly dark patch of fresh blood on the pavement out in the middle of the street, his whole body simply froze. His Veela nose recognized the scent of its mate. He stroked across it with his fingers and brought some of the crimson liquid to his lips, licking them. The moment the blood touched his tongue, he knew his senses hadn't lied, as the hint of his lover's special aphrodisiac contained in his bloodstream was present in the sample as well. It was hot, spicy - definitively Jeremy.

His Veela snarled in rage. Someone had hurt its mate.

He continued sniffing about, and caught a scent that tickled his nose with its not-quite-human fragrance. It smelled like wet dog. It seemed to be everywhere near Jeremy's scent, especially the bloodspot. Which direction it went off to, however, he couldn't decipher. His mate's scent seemed to just disappear as well.

That meant one of four possibilities: Portkey, Disapparition, flight by broom or other means, or somehow a spell was used to mask its owner's fragrance as he was taken along as a prisoner.

_Kill!_ His Veela howled with a need for revenge, as he regained his full height and spread his wings.

Just as he was about to launch himself back into the air for a wider area scan from above, he felt Su tugging on their bond, urging him back towards her. He followed the golden chain that tethered their souls together to find it was seriously weakening. He could taste her need for blood in his mouth, and instinctively knew she would die without him to supply her.

But Jeremy was wounded, too, and missing…

The Veela urged him to find Jer before any other concerns. It beat at him in his skull to run, to fly, to do whatever he must to find and protect the mate of its heart. But Will's conscience told him that if he let Su die to go chasing around the world to find Jeremy, he would regret it forever. And he was quite sure that Jeremy would have a difficult time forgiving him for it, too.

There was no real choice.

With a determination he didn't know he possessed, Will shoved the Veela's compelling demands aside and Disapparated back to the encampment, jumping twice to other places, per protocol. Using his preternatural speed, he closed the distance between the edge of the wards and the medical tent, where he could feel Su's life force ebbing away.

Folding his wings, he entered… and found the place to be very busy. Against the far wall, a group was gathered around a cot, and he could make out the back of Malfoy's blond head in the mix. Curious though he was to find out what commotion was about, his attention was instead immediately fixated on Su, who was nearer to the tent flap. She lay in a cot; her shirt had been cut in half and separated to reveal his mate's bare and bandaged torso. The dagger was gone, thankfully. A pile of bloody rags were scattered about the floor under her. At her side was Morag McDougal, who was using her wand to clean up the mess.

He stepped close and Morag looked over at him, doing a double-take.

"She needs blood," he stated, and sat on the cot at Su's side, lifting her into an upright position.

"Ya canna raise her!" the woman warned. "We jus' go' the wound stitched up. The flesh is still tender, and ye'll tear it open! She's been Immobilized ta keep 'er from attackin' us all."

Su didn't respond to his touch, although her eyes were open, and her Vampire was clearly in control. Crimson irises stared with desperation at his pulse as she was drawn near to it.

"Free her," he commanded, placing Su's mouth next to his throat. "She needs blood to heal."

Morag shook her head. "Tha' I canna do. We dunno if she'll turn on us all after she's done munchin' on yer vein."

Will took a deep breath and let it out, trying not to lose his temper. Instinctually, he knew what needed to be done to heal his woman, but he could waste no more time with explanations. Su was dying by the second. Lifting his lover in his arms, he turned to take her back to Jeremy's tent, which was away from the others, as Blaise had required. "We will see to her needs."

With that, he exited the medical tent, ignoring Morag's warnings and protests. With a burst of speed, he crossed the camp and entered the tent where, just last night, he'd made this extraordinary woman his mate. Laying Su down in the cot, he turned and bespelled the tent for privacy and set up wards so no one could come or go, just in case.

That done, he stripped off his clothing in a hurry. Naked, he approached Su, sitting at her side once more. "You will feed from us and heal," he told her, pointing his wand at her head. First, he _Evanesco_'d her clothing to rid them of all barriers, and then he issued a "_Finite Incantatum_" upon her, freeing her from whatever magical hold was placed upon her movement.

He turned his neck just in time. Su bolted upright, grabbed onto his shoulders with a fierce grip, and punched through his jugular with her fangs. Her voracious sucking of his blood made his heart pump twice as fast, causing him to become painfully aroused in seconds, as the _Jouisseur _took hold of them both. Sensing his desire, his mate grabbed him and pulled him down atop her, latching her legs around his waist. With a quick adjustment of his hips, he was deep inside her body.

With pounding desperation, they rode her hungers to their conclusion, saving Su and exhausting Will… and leaving Jeremy to his fate for the time being.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (a quarter till five o'clock P.M.)**_

Penelope was frantic. The Captain was back, and that lifted a huge weight from her shoulders, but Neville hadn't returned, and Malfoy just shook his head at her questions, telling her that he had no idea what had happened to his teammate.

She went in search of Zabini, seeing him walk off with Weasley and a prisoner. She found them in the War Tent.

"Who's this?" she asked, not recognizing the man who had clearly been spelled almost to death to keep him silent, ignorant, and imprisoned. Chains, really? How bad was this guy?

"Cormac McLaggen," Blaise stated, and Penelope instantly understood why they'd taken such precautions with the wizard.

"You brought a Tracker, _here?_" she asked, incredulous, her anger rising. Her grip on her wand was so tight that her knuckles cracked. This was the man who'd hurt the Captain in the most visceral way a man could wound a woman. He was dangerous. He was evil. His very presence here at the camp put them all in jeopardy.

Zabini's hand on her shoulder, meant as a calming gesture, only agitated her further. She shrugged him off and growled. "Morons, kill him! He'll give us away!" She marched up to Charlie and poked her wand at his chest. "And where the _fuck_ is my fiancé?"

The redheaded wizard shook his head. "He never showed up at the rendezvous point."

"Bradley said the enemy attacked," she reminded them both, snarling. "If you left Neville to be captured, I'll castrate you all."

Stomping out, she hurried back to the Medical Tent to find Morag. The woman was cleaning up the mess left behind by Su, who had apparently checked out. Did Vampires heal that quickly?

"When you're done here," she instructed the purple and black-haired witch, "I want you to begin preparing the Main Tent and the others in camp to possibly have to leave in a hurry. Pass the word: we're on Crisis Level 2 as of now." One step away from an emergency jump, in other words. Everyone in camp would know what that meant, as they'd come up with disaster plans and solutions soon after leaving Kirkwall and coming here.

MacDougall nodded, whipped out her wand, and _Scourgify_'d the area she was working on. She followed it up with an _Evanesco_ on the pile of bloodied dressings to vanish them, and then hurried out of the tent to carry out her orders.

Penelope turned towards her leader, who was still standing in front of the Captain's cot, alongside Parkinson. Dunbar was heading over from the mobile supply cabinet with a bottle of Skele-Gro in hand. She could be heard giving a diagnosis of the woman's injured wrist.

"Clearwater," Malfoy called to her from the tent opening, as if he knew she was nearby. How he accomplished that, Penelope didn't know. Sometimes, it was like the guy had eyes in the back of his head. "Go find Theo, and tell him to come here pronto. After, go to the War Tent and make sure Zabini and Weasley have a good, tight hold on our prisoner. I need Nott to look into McLaggen's head later."

Parkinson jerked at the Tracker's name and stepped back, hissing. "You've captured him and brought him here? What the hell were you thinking, Draco? Kill him, before his friends come looking for him!"

"That's what I said," Penelope concurred.

Malfoy firmly shook his head. "He might have information we need, and Granger" – he nodded in the Captain's direction – "says that she can explain why he went dark, and why he's now miraculously cured." He didn't sound very convinced of that fact, but didn't disparage Hermione for the claim. "He stays alive, for now. I want his secrets." He turned his head and met Pansy's gaze. "Keep away from him," he ordered, his voice hard, brooking no argument.

Parkinson's stare hardened, and her lips pursed as she held back furious words. It was clear she didn't like the command she'd just been given. Malfoy did not relent, however, not even in the face of the tears that suddenly filled the other woman's incensed, cocoa-coloured eyes. With a livid snarl, she stormed out through the open canvas flaps and away, her back ramrod straight, her stride quick and heavy.

The air was thick with lingering tension.

"I'll pass your orders onto Theo," Penelope informed Draco, breaking the uneasy silence, "but after, I'm going to Blessington to find Neville. Don't think you can stop me."

Malfoy sighed. "At least wait to hear whether McLaggen knows anything about Longbottom's disappearance, and for someone who's been to town to take you in under cover of darkness. You haven't been there. The place is crawling with servants of the Dark Lord. You'll need backup."

The tight squeezing in Penelope's chest was growing painful. She put her hand over it, trying not to lose composure. "He could be injured right now – _dying. _There's no time."

For the first time in their long acquaintance, Draco looked unsure of a decision he'd made. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Bloody Gryffindors will be my end, I swear it." He glanced over his shoulder, down at the Captain. He ran a tired hand over his brow. "I'll go wolf and come with you. I'll be able to pick up Neville's scent that way. It's better than floundering around. But," he pointed a weighty finger at Penelope, "you go find Theo and get him to the War Tent _now._ I need him to take a look into both McLaggen and…" He pointedly looked down at Granger. "Can she be moved?" It was clear he was asking the resident nurse hovering nearby.

Dunbar gave some response to the effect of, "yes, but gently," and Malfoy was bending to take the wounded witch into his arms.

Her heart a bit lighter, Penelope ran out to locate Theodore Nott.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (five o'clock P.M.)**_

They were back at the end of the long Main Street of Blessington, hidden from plain sight by a fence. Draco had Side-Along Apparated Clearwater with him a bit out of town, and they'd snuck in under the cover of darkness to this point.

He scanned the area through a crack in the wood. The main road was empty; no lights could be seen breaking the darkness now that the sun had set, and no pedestrians walked about the street. At first glance, the place appeared to be a ghost town. He knew, however, things were never what they seemed, especially with the residual of dark magic humming over the area.

Although his wolf eyes were far superior to his human's when it came to night vision, it was his nose and ears that were his best defense while transfigured into his preferred animal form. With them, he learned the town's story by the scent carried on the wind and in the sound vibrations on the air: fear, panic, and the anticipation of more fighting to come. Blessington's population was apparently expecting – and in some cases, even eager for - violence.

Tension hunched Draco's furred shoulders, and a low growl involuntarily rumbled through his chest as other fragrances drifted from further down the paved street: the tang of blood, the fetid odor of intestinal debris, and the stench of werewolf.

"Trouble?" Clearwater whispered very softly as she crouched at his side, wand out and ready. She had transfigured her clothing to be jet black, was wearing gloves, and had magically charmed the skin of her face and neck to black as well, to hide her lily white colouring. Only her teeth and the whites of her eyes showed.

Draco tilted his head, unsure himself as to whether there was a trap waiting for them.

"Your grey-white fur sticks out in the dark. I'm charming it," she offered in her typically gruff manner that defied argument.

He suffered her attentions with a sigh, and felt the tingle of her magic roll over him. Pleased with the results, she merely grunted to let him know he could now blend as smoothly as she.

"Like we planned?" she asked, waiting for his signal, her free hand pressed to the back of his neck to feel his 'yea' or 'nay'.

He nodded the affirmative, and as quietly as possible, she opened the gate and they stepped out from behind the fence, and out onto the main thoroughfare. Slinking from shadow to shadow, they moved with speedy step down the street, her shoes and his paws magically muffled before they'd even left the woods outside town to assure they made as little noise as possible. For a human, Clearwater was swift and soundless; she'd been their backup scout many a time when Stretton had been sent elsewhere, and so had solid practice in the art of stealth.

When they needed to cross open alleys, they'd pause as one and crouch low, then dash across. They followed this pattern all the way to the church in the middle of the town. There, Draco stopped quite suddenly, and nipped at Clearwater's leg for her to stay put while he investigated.

The smells of a fight were strongest here, and there were pieces of human bodies lying about in the middle of the street, newly dead within the past few hours. A heavy odor of blood and feces permeated the air, and were joined with the familiar stink of werewolf and… something else Draco had never smelled before. If he didn't know better, he'd say Bradley had been here, but there was some other scent – feminine almost – combined with that of the big blond man's that wasn't wholly recognizable.

He slunk over and sniffed, finding Jeremy Stretton's scent all over the scene, too. The man had been in the heart of all of this death… and he'd been wounded. A puddle of blood that his nose led him to was clearly that of the half-Vampire's.

There was no trace of Neville's scent in the middle of the grisly scene. That could be a good thing, or a very bad one, depending upon the situation.

He looked up, recognizing the Exchange where he and Longbottom had been earlier that day. If he got closer to the last known location of his comrade, he might be able to pick up the man's scent from there.

Padding on, he headed over to the lone building. As he got closer, he slowed, recognizing a new sensation – Anti-Apparition Wards. He'd just unexpectedly crossed them.

A Caterwauling Charm screeched out into the night, nearly deafening him. Dashing to hide behind one of the abandoned, stationary Muggle vehicles, he hunkered down underneath one and waited, vacillating between taking precious moments to transfigure back into human form, or to stay in the faster, more agile form of the predatory wolf, and hope he didn't need to use magic for a fight. From this position, he couldn't see Clearwater, and hoped the woman had found a sufficient hiding spot as well.

A group of a dozen or so wizards and witches came down the street from the direction they had originated, illuminated wands held up. One of them shut off the shrieking alarm, while another tossed a ball of brilliantly pulsing light into the air, causing the whole area to flash. Draco was careful to slit his eyes to prevent them from being temporarily blinded. He could hear the group riling each other up for a good brawl. They laughed, were rowdy, and called out into the darkness for their enemies to "come out, come out."

It was time to change forms.

Reaching into the bag around his neck, he gripped his wand in his teeth and cast the spell to reverse his transfigured body. He reached in and grabbed some pants, a shirt, and his shoes, hurrying them on while trying to remain hidden. He used a nonverbal spell to lace up his boots, another for warmth, and a final one to transfigure his colouring all-black once more, having lost that effect on the earlier _Finite _spell.

He still couldn't see Clearwater from where he was, but the group of Mort's cronies were divided just then, some of them moving the dead off the street with spells, while the others spread out to find who had tripped the Caterwauling Charm.

An idea came to him in a snap.

Exerting some of that strange, darker energy inside of him, he willed tendrils of dark smoke into the air to not only extinguish the ball of light, but to make it impossible for them to cast another. It was, in effect, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in a spell form. Shouts went up from the enemy when their only source of light was gone, and they found they were unable to cast more. Draco used those precious few seconds of confusion to strike.

With three flicks of his wrist, he took down the three closest to him with several quickly cast _Avada Kedavra_. He moved on then, as quietly and as fast as possible to hide across the narrow gap between automobiles. There was no disguising the green flashes, so the enemy now knew his general location. He paused only a second to check under the cars for feet, realized he couldn't see much either, and took the risk of running to the next aisle over.

A green flash hit the car hood he just passed, but to his surprise, someone nearby fired at the same time and there was a red flash and a scream, then a thud as a body hit the ground. Someone had just been _Stupefy_'d back several feet into the air. Friendly fire or was that Clearwater? He didn't know, and couldn't risk finding out, honestly. He kept moving…

…and nearly collided with a Snatcher. He looked up just as the man's pale face – bright against the darkness, just as Clearwater had warned - looked down at his black-covered features. His opponent's confused pause is what saved him. He fired off a quick Killing Curse, and the man dropped like so much dead meat. Draco grabbed his wand as it fell at his feet, and then scurried on towards the next aisle of vehicles.

He heard Clearwater call out an _Avada_ of her own, and pinpointed approximately where she was from his location – somewhere on the other side of the main street, near the church. Spells flashed from his side of the street towards her, and one closer to her side. They had targeted her.

Draco used their distraction to his advantage once again. He watched where certain spell flashes came from, and then angling both wands, he cast _Stupefy _simultaneously out of both of them at two different targets. Both hit home, as evident from the gasps and shouts of surprise.

Immediately, the car he had ducked behind was nailed with a barrage of spells. Thankfully, Clearwater was no novice in a fight, and she knew his tactics; they'd certainly talked about them and practiced them in the past on more than one occasion. She caught on to the hit-and-run nature of his game, and fired upon the enemy to buy him time to switch locations.

He moved back the way he'd come in an effort to further confuse their adversaries, careful not to trip over the dead guy on his way back towards the Exchange building. As he ran, he fired off random spells both above cars and below them, aiming for where legs might be. He caught two of them that way with _Incarcerous_ spells.

Now, the circle of foes had dwindled down to approximately six – still three to one odds, but much more manageable. It was time to try something new.

Using his favourite memory, Draco sent out his Patronus to illuminate the area, hoping to get a solid idea of where to fire off his next spell. He sent the white wolf around in a wide circle, so the point of its origin wouldn't be clear. Risking a peek above a car's hood, he saw three villains and again, using the two wands in his possession, he made quick work of them with his favourite Unforgivable Curse. Across the way, Clearwater took out one more.

That left two.

Letting go of the ink spell was a matter of simply willing it to dissipate. As soon as it was clear, Draco threw up a blinding ball of light into the sky. The street lit up, and as it did, he saw the faces of his final two opponents: both women. One of them caught sight of him rising up from behind the vehicle where he'd crouched down and her eyes widened.

"Th' white-haired one!" she screamed. "He's th' leader o' the rebels! Kill 'im!"

Draco made quick work of her remaining ally, who fell in a blazing green light that bathed her from head to toe.

"Not if I kill you first," Clearwater answered the first witch's challenge, her wand pressed to the woman's temple. "Drop it," she warned the woman, referring to her wand.

Knowing she'd been soundly defeated, the female tossed her wand aside and huffed in disgust, her shoulders slumping. Penelope bound her with magic ropes and _Silence_'d her with a quick series of casts. For good measure, she tumped the witch onto her arse by kicking her legs out from under her.

Just like that, the fight was over.

Draco came around the cars, heading for Clearwater, _Accio_-ing all of the wands of the dead as he went. One never knew when they might come in handy, after all. He tossed them into the Bag of Holding around his neck, and they tumbled into the black abyss. When he reached his partner, he glanced around. They were totally exposed out here like this.

"Off the street," he ordered.

Levitating their prisoner, Draco led Clearwater by the arm towards the Exchange, flicking his wand over his shoulder and ridding them of the ball of light. His eyes were already adjusting. He had spied the most direct path to the door of the building ahead, and moved on memory. Once there, they pushed the doors open, got their captive inside, and barred the doors with some strong wards. They needed a plan.

"Oh, my God!" Penelope cried out in shocked surprise, and ran forward past Draco. The witch she'd been levitating fell to the wooden floor on her side with a rather meaty slap as the spell let her go. "Neville!"

"Hey," Longbottom croaked, his voice very weak, pained. The roof and half of one wall, it seemed, had collapsed on top of him, and he was buried under a pile of heavy rubble. Only a single hand and his head were visible, but there was a lot of blood. His wand was nowhere to be seen.

Clearwater was distraught, but not crying, thank the Founders. She used her wand to push the old, heavy pillar made of concrete off of her fiancé. "I'm getting you out," she vowed, sounding furious. "Just hang on, Nev."

Draco secured their hostage (read: knocked her out with a _Stupefy_) before moving to help the redheaded witch free the former Gryffindor from the debris. When they were done, it was obvious that Longbottom had been seriously crushed – and that his chances of surviving were dramatically low. Still, he'd made it this far, and Draco wouldn't leave him behind no matter what. Hell, Clearwater wouldn't _let_ him, no matter the circumstances; she'd most likely skin him if he tried to convince her otherwise.

"We have to get outside the Anti-Apparition Wards," Draco warned her, as she petrified and levitated Neville to avoid causing him any further damage by moving him around.

"Tha' I can help ya with, me boy-o."

Draco turned, wand out and ready, to find a most unexpected sight: Seamus Finnegan's ghost hovering two feet above the floor, grinning down at him.

The spirit hovered over to Longbottom's side. "Yo, Nev. Yer in a right shape," he greeted his half-conscious former teammate. "Dontcha worry, none, mate. We'll get ya fixed up. No becoming a Dementor fer ya." He looked up at Clearwater and Draco. "I'll be explainin' it all ta ya when we get outta here. Right now, we need ta get some help fer him, yeah?"

Draco stepped around Finnegan, measuring the ghost from top to bottom. Was this some sort of trick?

Sea tsked. "'Tis really me. I'll prove it." He stood to his full height and stared Draco in the eye. "May yer wee willy shrivel up, ya bastard, blondie ferret."

Now there was something he hadn't heard in over a year. A smirk crept up his cheek. "All right, Finnegan" he conceded, knowing there was no way an illusion could know the last words Seamus had spoken to him before he'd left on the mission that had claimed his life, "lead the way out."

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (six o'clock P.M.)**_

Ginny dreamed of the time she'd left Harry a singing "Get Well" card during his third year, when he'd been injured in that Quidditch match. The thing had sung horribly off-key, because she'd gotten the spell only partly right, but as she looked at the incident now, she could see how terribly amused Harry had been by the gift – even as he'd hid it under the bowl of fruit next to his cot in the hospital wing to keep it from warbling his ears off.

"I never thanked you for that, did I?"

She whirled about…

…to find Harry, as she remembered him, smiling at her.

Tears filled her eyes in the dream. "Harry?"

He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his Muggle jeans, and scuffed his trainers along the marble flooring. "I'm happy for you, you know. That you've moved on."

"Harry, how are you-?"

"You're asleep. Your mind is open," he explained, looking up and adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose, as he's frequently done back during their school days. "I don't have much time, but I wanted you to know that."

Ginny wanted to throw herself into his arms, but something was holding her in place; her feet were stuck to the floor, unable to be lifted. "I'm sorry," she grieved once more for the boy she'd lost. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

He shook his head. "Don't be, Gin. Listen, no matter what happens, know that… I'm thankful for the time we spent together, and for the card" – he nodded his head back towards the dream versions of them, frozen in place behind her – "and for everything you gave me. And I want you to be happy – no matter what it takes."

Her heart thumping a loud beat in her ears, Ginny knew what he was trying to say. "You're telling me good-bye, aren't you?"

His smile was sad. "Never got the chance before. _I'm_ sorry for that." He looked over his shoulder at something behind him, but Ginny saw nothing there. In a flash he turned back to her, emerald eyes wide with alarm. "I'll buy you what time I can. You need to leave the castle. He'll be coming later tonight. You have a few hours at the most to make an escape. Get out while you can. Tell 'Mione… tell her I'll find her, but she needs to lower her mental shields so we can talk. Tell her, right?"

There was something wrong with him – he was fading, as if a giant invisible eraser were being pushed back and forth over him, eliminating all of his colour from the world.

"Get out of the castle, Gin, and don't look back!" he shouted, and then was no more.

Behind her, the card began shrieking…

She bolted upright in bed with a cry, and a trembling hand over her heart. Hot beads of tears made her lashes thick and her cheeks sticky.

Phil was sitting up next to her, obviously jarred awake from her sudden rising. He had her in his arms, and was cradling her, shushing her like a child awakened from a nightmare. "It's all right, Freckles. I've got you. You're safe." His warm hands smoothed across her back, and through her hair, as his lips pressed small kisses to her temple, her cheek, her throat.

"It was Harry," she explained, leaning back to look her lover in the eye. "He was in my dreams, talking to me. He said Mort is coming tonight and we needed to get out right now!"

"A dream," Phil began to argue, but she cut him off with a firm shake and by pushing out of bed. She began frantically searching for her clothing and redressing.

"Not a dream. I know the difference," she explained in a flustered rush as she tossed her shirt over her head. "It was him. His… ghost or something was warning me. He gave me a message for Hermione, too." Her knickers were tugged up her legs, and her Muggle jeans quickly followed suit. "We need to get moving early. If Mort is scheduled to come here tonight, we won't be able to break the prisoners out. We need to do it before then."

It was clear that Phil was having a hard time believing her. She knew how it sounded – _Harry_ talking to her when everyone knew he was dead, but still…

"Trust me," she turned to him, boots in one hand, wand in the other. She waved a spell over Angie and Fred to wake them, but was careful to keep Fred's restraints and Muffling in place. "We need to move now." Making her way to her sister-in-law's side, she nudged the woman with her toes. "Angie… get up!"

The woman stirred and sat up, rubbing a hand through her hair. "Whassup?" she asked, her words slurred from sleep.

"Change of plan," she advised. "We go now. Up and at 'em."

"You realize I still have to steal that cache of wands first," Phil made the observation, pulling his trousers up over his naked thighs and hips, not bothering with underwear.

"I'll do that now," Ginny offered, sitting in a nearby chair and pulling her boots up, buckling them in place. She grabbed the Cloak of Invisibility off the back of the chair and threw it over her body. "In the meantime, you go poison the food in the kitchen. Angie, you _Disillusion_ Fred and yourself, and get over to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor, just down the way from Gryffindor's old common room. It's the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy – you remember from our old D.A. days?"

Angelina nodded.

"Good. In order to open the portal into the Room, you pace in front of the wall three times thinking of the thing you want most. In this case, think about a portrait of Ariana Dumbledore. When the door appears in the wall, go into the room. Ariana is a young, blonde girl, who looks a lot like Dumbledore in the face. Ask her to aid you in getting across to the Hog's Head Inn. She'll open up and you just walk down the corridor. When you get to the Inn in Hogsmeade, stay out of sight. Hold up there with Fred. We'll meet you there in a few hours."

Her sister-in-law stood up, beginning her preparations and assuring Fred was unconscious once more with a _Stupefy_ to prevent him causing trouble.

Ginny hurried over to Phil, as he was buttoning up his robe.

"Please be careful," she whispered as she stepped into his frame and put her arms about his waist. "Just throw the poison in every kettle you can find and get out. Try not to attract attention. I'll meet you in the Room of Requirement."

He hugged her tight to his chest, nuzzling his cheek into her hair. "It should be me going to free the prisoners," he argued once more, but she shook her head. "All right, Ginny. Just… you be careful, too." He tipped her chin up and captured her mouth in a blazing kiss that melted her socks off. When he pulled back, he stared into her eyes, running fingertips over her cheek and reddened lips. "I want more of you. Don't let this be our end, right?"

Holding back her tears, she nodded. "You, too."

His lips twitched into a smile. "I'll do my best, Freckles."

With that, he let her go, grabbed his wand and the vials of poison that he intended on using tonight, shoving the former up his sleeve and the latter into a Bag of Holding. Then, checking the door, he slipped out and was gone.

It took everything in Ginny not to follow after him, to shout out for him to forget it and come back, but she knew that if he didn't poison as many of the enemy as he could, getting the prisoners free would be impossible… and if they remained behind, they would die when Mort arrived and discovered some of his men murdered. The Dark Lord wasn't known for his restrained temper.

Angie gave her a hug and wished her luck. She returned the blessings and the gesture, and then gave her unconscious brother a hug, too. "If we're not there by midnight, get outside the wards around Hogsmeade and Apparate away – to Ireland, the Wicklow Mountains. The rebellion is there somewhere." She nodded at her levitated older sibling. "Take care of him, no matter what happens."

They said their goodbyes, Gin pulled the hood of the Cloak up, and she snuck out.

First stop, wand cabinet.

Second stop, the dungeons.

She moved as swiftly and as quietly as she could, her steps muffled by a spell along the way to prevent her footfalls from giving away her position. Now if only she could hush her pounding heart, perhaps she might sneak past the enemy without notice.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Before you rail at the lack of a Dramione hook-up scene in this chapter, know that it's already written and coming up very soon (patience, my lovelies!). This chapter, however, was important set-up for the over-arcing plot in this story. Things have to move along at a certain pace, and details can't be shunned in our eagerness to get to the yummy sex stuff. So, please, wait for it a tiny bit longer... I predict you'll be VERY satisfied.**

**Aside from that... what did you think of Sea's return & the things he said (I've been DYING for that scene since chapter 10 when it first occurred to me). What do you think he means in his various comments to Neville and Draco? What do you think has happened to Jeremy? What do you think of Su and Will teaming up & getting closer? Will Neville, Phil, Angie, Fred, Ginny, Adrian, and Oliver survive their upcoming trials? Will Snape recover from his illness? Will Cormac be sentenced to death for his crimes by the group, or can Hermione convince them to give him a chance to earn his redemption? How will Cormac's relationship with Hermione effect hers with Draco? Where do you think Viktor and Soren have gone off to all this time, and what about Astoria being converted? Will Pansy ever convince Blaise to shag her rotten? Give me your predictions in your reviews - I'd love to hear them! :)**

**Please review (_gently_)!**


	30. Ch 28: Have Faith

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**A very large update for you, because it's been so long. I apologize for the delay! Hopefully, this is one you can sink your teeth into, though.**

**T.K.O. = Technical Knock-Out. A boxing term.**

**A huge thank you once more to UNSEENLIBRARIAN, who beta'd this chapter for me and caught my multitude of mistakes. Danke! Danke! Danke!**

* * *

_**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: HAVE FAITH**_

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (quarter past six o'clock P.M.)**_

Penelope hovered off to the side as Morag, Daphne, and Fay worked on saving Neville's life.

Once she and Malfoy had managed to dig her lover out of the rubble in the collapsed Exchange Building and gotten a good look, they'd both known time was of the essence. Emergency Apparating him had only exacerbated his injuries, and put her pregnancy at risk, but there had been little choice. No way could he have survived being carried on foot the distance between the town and their camp, their progress slow and unsteady in the dark.

As she glanced around at the three Healers, desperate for every bit of information she could glean from their body language about Nev's physical condition, she realized that he was unconscious. The pain of the jump from Blessington must have been more than he could bear. His eyes were bruised an ugly purple-black colour and swollen shut, his skin was mottling an ugly grey-blue, and blood bubbles appeared between his lips. His left arm lay at an unnatural angle, and his chest was hardly rising for air. He made a terrible wheezing noise through his nose.

Penny had seen enough wounds in the aftermath of battle to know in her head that what she was looking at was typically beyond the abilities of a non-licensed Healer to fix, especially out in the middle of the wilderness. Her heart, though, refused to give up hope. Instead, she prayed - fervently. _I'll give you anything you ask in return, just please save him, _she bargained in the silent vaults of her mind to whomever in the cosmos might be out there listening.

"Keep chewing on your hands like that and you'll get worms."

Penny started as Malfoy sidled up to her. It took a second more for his words to sink in, and then she pulled her fingers from her mouth. She hadn't even realized she'd been biting her nails. It was a childhood habit that she'd broken in her fourth year at Hogwarts, but it occasionally cropped back up when she was really scared or agitated. "I didn't even notice," she admitted, staring at her ragged fingernails on her right hand. She'd bitten them down to the nubs. The pinky was even bleeding a bit, having been chewed to the quick.

Beside her, her leader shifted, crossing his arms. "Don't you want to have nice nails for your wedding tomorrow?"

She nodded, feeling slightly dazed. "Right." Tears stung her eyes. "We're getting married." Hot, hated trails coursed down her cheeks and she closed her eyes tight to keep back the flood of emotion that beat at her chest.

That's right. Neville had promised her that she would become his wife, and that they would have a family together. He'd promised her a girly white dress to wear tomorrow night, and roses of every colour for her hair and her bouquet. He'd even promised that someday, when the war ended, they'd fix up his Gram's old house and make that their home, and then he would plant a whole garden of fresh roses for her that weren't magically-charmed, but real...

Morag's sharp hiss brought her out of her thoughts. Her lids snapped open to the sight of MacDougall's face gone white as a sheet. "Hold the pressure here," the woman sharply demanded of Greengrass, indicating a wound in Neville's torso. She quickly traded off with the willowy blonde witch, and moved her attention to Neville's head. Turning it carefully, her hands stained red with blood, she searched for something... Her eyes suddenly flared with intense concern and she hissed again. "Holy Mother o' Hell, he's got a hole in th' back o' his skull! Fay, get me wand o' th' table, some bandages, and th' Skele-Gro! Quick now! We need to turn 'im over."

Penny's heart stammered in her chest.

A hole? How big? Was his... gods, was his _brain_ showing through? What if that soft, grey matter was actually damaged?

She may not be a nurse or doctor, but Penny was Muggle-born, and she remembered some of those emergency E.R. programs on the telly that her mum had loved to watch when she'd been growing up. She knew, for instance, that the human brain was much too delicate to fool about with unless you knew what you were doing, and she also knew that severe trauma to the cranium was practically a death sentence.

Death. Neville.

The beginnings of a serious panic attack gripped her in its ugly claws. She'd remembered this feeling well, having experienced the same sickening feelings of dread just after Percy had died. But she hadn't loved him like she loved Neville. This... this was a million times more devastating. She struggled to hold her rioting emotions back behind her teeth, shaking from head to toe. A small whimper of despair escaped, despite her best efforts.

Malfoy's warm, heavy hand landed on her shoulder a second later, attempting to steady and ground her. She took some small comfort from her commander's strength.

"Wait! You can't move him yet. I think his lung is punctured," Daphne warned her colleagues. Her fingers probed the upper left side of her patient's torso, and her other hand hovered over his mouth, presumably checking for the strength of his breaths. "Closed wound - inside. I believe a rib has broken through." She turned and looked over her shoulder at where Penny and her leader stood, assessing them both with a Slytherin's eye for detail. "Malfoy, I need your help," she decided. "Get your wand out."

The tall wizard moved with quick stride to the witch's side, and following her instructions, made a small incision under Neville's armpit. Immediately, Daphne cast some sort of spell, and blood and fluid evacuated from the cut. With a quick healing spell, Malfoy closed the wound, and in rapid succession, Greengrass first cast a spell to inflate the lung with air, then another to reset the broken rib so it wouldn't re-puncture the lung wall. It took less than fifteen seconds total, but the results were readily apparent: Neville's greyish-purple cast faded out, and within another minute returned to a healthier pink.

"How did you know that?" Penny asked the woman.

"A lot of the girls at the Madam's House were abused, despite Pansy's attempts to protect them," Greengrass explained, her mouth set in a grim line. "I've seen and healed this type of injury more than once."

Morag began swearing up a storm under her breath as she and Fay worked to staunch the wound at the back of Neville's head. "Canna we turn 'im yet?" she asked with great impatience, waiting for Daphne to confirm the lung was stable.

Another second or two, and the blonde witch nodded. "It should hold. Malfoy, help turn him towards me. On three." She counted off, and Neville was flipped onto his belly with the three women and one man working in tandem.

Her fiancé's entire head, neck, and half way down his back was a river of dark crimson blood. It had saturated into his hair and clothes, staining the cot beneath as well.

She'd seen a lot of death in this war, but Penny had never seen so much blood in one place before.

A queer sort of shock gripped her then, and there was only the sound of her throbbing pulse in her ears to mark the seconds passing. Vaguely she was aware of the others in the room moving quickly as Morag barked orders, but her ears felt packed by wool, and so the words and sounds were indistinct and muffled. She stared in frozen horror as the back of Neville's hair was shaved off with a quick flick and swish of Fay's wand, revealing a hole about the size of a walnut. The skin was torn open, and dark blood and other fluids leaked out.

She blinked several times, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, but it was only when Malfoy shouted something at her that her mind snapped back into the reality of the moment.

"What?"

"Leave," he yelled at her, jutting his chin towards the tent exit.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, I-"

She made the mistake of looking back at what Morag was doing at just that moment: the tip of the witch's wand entered the hole in the back of Neville's head as she cast a spell to repair split tissue.

The gorge rose up Penny's throat without warning. She bent at the knee, quickly turned towards the tent wall, and violently vomited up her guts. Acid bit into her throat as she gagged and expelled her lunch all over the canvas wall and flooring, and her stomach muscles cramped with each retching heave. She broke out into a sweat that beaded her upper lip and brow, flushing through her system to make her perspire under the arms and at the nape of her neck. The unexpected reaction knocked her emotions off-kilter, and she began sobbing, even as another wave overwhelmed her.

God, Morag's wand was _inside_ Neville's skull!

She retched again.

It took at least a full minute for there to be nothing left to come up and for her to finish being sick, and then Malfoy was at her side. He took her by the arm and helped her to her feet, and then picked her up without her consent, and carried her outside the tent before she could protest. "Stay out here," he ordered her in a brook-no-argument tone, putting her back on her feet and taking her wand from her hand. "You're distracting them and he can't afford that."

Penny wanted to argue and rail at him, but she was still feeling particularly green around the gills, weak-kneed from spewing the entire contents - and then some - of her stomach out, and knew he was right. If she went back in there, she wasn't sure her body wouldn't find something else to expel.

He made a fast scan around at the people moving back and forth throughout the camp. "Pansy," he finally called out, signaling the witch to come over. "Make sure Clearwater doesn't interfere with saving Longbottom's life." He threw a thumb over his shoulder back towards the inside of the Medical Tent to indicate where Penny was not allowed to go.

"On it," the other woman declared, and gripped Penny's arm.

Without another word, their leader ducked back inside, and the flaps fell into place behind him, shutting off Penny's view.

"Let's get you somewhere warm and out of the wind," Parkinson offered.

Penny yanked her arm back. "Not leaving," she gruffed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and occasionally spitting out the foul flavour.

"You want to get sick and jeopardize your pregnancy?" the dark-haired witch pressed, knowing just what nerve was sensitive enough to pull to get a reaction.

Penny's hand lowered to her belly. Her baby... _their_ baby...

"Mess Tent's thirty feet that way," Parkinson pressed home, pointing behind them. "You can get some tea to calm your nerves, and you'll be close enough for news." She stepped closer, and lowered her voice into a more soothing range. "He's in good hands. Daphne and Morag never lost a girl at The Madam's House, and some of them shouldn't have lived given the damage they'd taken. Those witches are good at what they do, and with Dunbar in there with them, they have an extra pair of competent hands to help." She looked back towards the tent. "Besides, Malfoy won't give up on him either. Seems he's caught a case of 'the Grangers' where this group is concerned." She grinned, and pulled Penny's arm, forcing her to follow after her as she headed towards the largest pavilion in camp. "If anyone can pull Longbottom through this, it's them. Have a little faith."

With her free hand still pressed against her tummy, Penny reluctantly followed, trying to make Parkinson's belief her own.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (half past six o'clock P.M.)**_

_Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-... oh, forget it!_

Hermione sighed and gave up counting the passage of time. Instead, she reached up and rubbed at the sides of her temples again, trying to rid herself of the headache that continued to pound away behind her eyes by envisioning a cool, damp cloth pressed to the spot. She had been sitting for the better part of an hour in the world's most uncomfortable chair, in a straight-backed position, trying to fight off this monster of pain pounding inside her skull, to no avail. Ironically, her spine wasn't hurting, despite the fact that practically everything else did. Apparently, her long walk down the Irish countryside had changed her physique, strengthening muscles in her back and abdomen, which helped her posture and allowed her to keep them tensed and rigid for a longer period of time.

_Let's hear it for exercise,_ she thought with some wry amusement.

At least she was calming down enough to find sarcastic wit in her current situation. It beat feeling mortified and angry, as she had just a little while ago.

Draco had snatched her from the Medical Tent as soon as she'd been cleared, and had hurried with her across the Wicklow camp. No one stopped them, and she didn't hear anyone call out as they passed, so she assumed he'd _Disillusioned_ them somehow. She was still _Silenced_ and _Blinded_, although the _Incarcerous _spell he'd cast had been removed. Being careful of her healing wrist, she'd clung to him and trusted that he would take care of her.

Instead, she'd found herself dumped into this god-awful chair in a tent that smelled of ink and parchment and mold, and told to behave as Theo had a look in her head with his magic. Then, he'd left.

Seconds later, Nott had approached and told her he was going to use Legilimency on her, gently advising her that he could pretty much break through any attempt to shelter memories from him with relative ease. _"Not that you're going to use Occlumency - especially since you want us to know that you're not under anyone's influence,"_ he stated in that very Slytherin matter-of-fact way that served as both a dissuasive warning and an expectation to the listener.

Putting it that way, Hermione had decided to relax and let him have what he was after...

Could she have been any more naive?

The memory probe had left nothing of her life since seventh year untouched. Theodore had shown her no mercy, picking through the worst and most important moments of her adult life and forcing her to relive them so he could determine if they were real or planted memories by her honest reactions. Every corner of her heart had been exposed to him as a result, and all of her deepest secrets revealed.

She wanted to cry now, just thinking about it again, but her anger returned to act as a front-line defence. It burned too hot for self-pity to take over just then, and allowed her to focus, rather than fall apart.

Gods, Nott had seen _everything_ - the aftermath of dealing with Ron and Harry's deaths, the rapes she'd endured, the innocent moments of intimacy with Viktor and Cormac, the gut-wrenching jealousy she felt towards Astoria, her sorrow and despair and frustration at each and every burial of a group member, and the kiss she'd desperately planted on Malfoy before everything went to hell in Kirkwall. He'd witnessed the many times over the last year that, in the darkness of her tent, late at night, she'd brought herself to climax with her fingers to thoughts of Draco, and he'd seen her naked as she bathed. He'd even witnessed her magically-induced arousal that day he'd brought her to The Madam's House, and knew that he was well-aware that the moisture between her thighs had been there for him.

That he knew such things made her seethe.

Yes, rationally, she understood the need to be so thorough, especially given McLaggen's abilities to manipulate. The former Death Eater had been at the top of Mort's list of most valued and trusted soldiers; a Tracker who'd accomplished a lot of really twisted things with magic. Trusting that he hadn't somehow corrupted her would have been a serious tactical error. So, logically, she could understand the need for such an effectual, comprehensive sweep of the inside of her skull. However, it had left her feeling humiliated and violated, and for that, she wanted to hit someone hard. Preferably, that 'someone' would be Malfoy, since he was the one who had ordered Theo to, "read her head, inside and out".

"Drink this," Nott offered, holding a cup to her lips. "It's water. You look like you could use it."

With a small, sullen nod, she accepted the drink. It was cool across her tongue, and refreshing down her throat. She hadn't had anything to drink for half a day, and hadn't realized exactly how parched she was until then.

When she'd had enough, she pulled away and indicated with a chin thrust that he should offer some to Cormac, too.

Theo sniffed. "No way. Let him die of thirst."

She stamped her foot and frowned at where she thought Nott might be, then jerked her chin again in the direction she could hear McLaggen's breathing coming from. He didn't sound good, honestly. He was wheezing a bit, and she wondered if he'd been wounded in the conflict with Scabior.

"Geez, Granger, you're always so bossy," Zabini joked from off to her right, chuckling. "He's still not getting any, though."

She did the only thing she could think of then: she stood up, stumbled about blindly, and searched for the cup herself. If they wouldn't give Cor some water, then it was up to her to do so.

"'Mione, for Godric's sake, hold still," Charlie Weasley demanded, stepping over to her, taking hold of her arms in a gentle hold, and stilling her. He pushed her back down into the chair. "Your arm is still healing from the Skele-Gro, and you're going to tear that newly stitched side of yours if you flail around like that. I'll give him some bloody water, yeah?"

He turned away, and she knew he was talking to Theo then. "Give me that blasted cup."

Theo huffed with disgust, and there was a rustle, and then Charlie moved past her towards where she was sure Cormac was sitting, tied to a chair. "Here, drink this," he said in an unkind voice to the former Gryffindor, "and consider yourself lucky for that much. You have to piss later, though, and you're outta luck."

Hermione stamped her foot again and this time put her fists on her hips, tossing the room an angry glare. Seated and blind, it wasn't as effective a display of protest as if she'd been standing and could actually give them all a penetrating, disapproving glance, but she made sure her intention was clear with a deep, sweeping frown. Her group would not torture McLaggen, not in any way, she determined. The man had been through enough. Besides, there was no way she would sanction her side using Death Eater tactics on prisoners.

Charlie _tsk'd_ and grumbled again, having caught on to her silent demand that he was to behave decently, but he made no more threats towards Cor.

It was quiet for a bit after that, with only the sound of her fellow captive swallowing mouthfuls of water as if he were a man who'd been out in the desert for too long. When McLaggen finished, Charlie moved aside, and she heard the glass being put down on a table across the room. There was some shifting of bodies after that, and someone eventually sighed with boredom, but no one said a thing for a good long while.

Finally, Zabini spoke up, breaking the tense silence. "It's been over an hour. Think I should give it a go now?"

Hermione stiffened, knowing what he was asking the others permission to do.

Nott took a deep breath and let it out in a fast rush. "Draco won't be pleased if you hurt her by prodding around where you shouldn't. Bad enough I did it. He's going to kill me when he finds out how deep I went."

"We had to know," Charlie defended him. "To be sure."

"I know," Theo agreed, sounding hesitant, "but, still, it didn't feel right to do that to her."

Well, it was good to know Nott was at least agonizing over her mind invasion as much as she was. It made her feel a bit better, anyway.

"Then I'll start with him," Blaise stated, sounding excited at the prospect - and not in a good way. There was some movement, and then Zabini plunked a chair down in front of where Cormac was sitting, off to her left. "You can read him after me, while I read the Captain. You know Malfoy would want there to be no question as to her innocence, and to the claims she's made. It's the only way. Besides, his mental walls have been up since we got here. I've probed them a few times already, and they're strong. I want to see what he's hiding."

Charlie swore. "I agree with Zabini. McLaggen's aura is really powerful from all the dark magic that's seeped into his soul over time. I can see it glowing around him even when he's exhausted, as he is now." He stepped closer. "You know, he cast two silent spells on himself as I walked with him from the edge of the camp to this tent: one to heal an internal injury, and the other was a pick-me-up for his flagging energy. His aura shifted each time, giving him away, and I almost considered taking the precaution of knocking him out. I've been keeping an eye out for any further shifts since, but so far, he's remained passive. But, if he can do that much, then what else can he cast without a wand or his voice? We need to know what he knows, and we're taking a risk by waiting. I say let Zabini at him."

Theo sighed. "I could care less if you break that fucker and leave him a gibbering idiot, but you make sure you're gentle with _her_ when you're done with _him._ I don't want Granger hurt any more than she already is."

Blaise settled his bulky form into the chair, which creaked under his weight, and rubbed his hands together. "Brilliant. Now, let's see your list of sins McLaggen, shall we? _Legilimens._"

Turning her head away, Hermione tried hard not to listen as Cormac jerked back in his seat and how the rate of his breathing accelerated, knowing how horrible it felt to have your soul stripped bare for someone else to see.

_Draco, where are you?_ she wondered, turning her thoughts outward, worried for him and for Neville both. Had they found her friend back at Blessington yet? If they had, wouldn't he be here with them now? Maybe they were still looking for him.

She rubbed soothing circles over her temples again. The headache was beginning to dim, but it persisted as an irritating throbbing.

_One, two, three..._

She began counting the seconds again, trying to hold onto her faith that Neville was safe, and that Malfoy would come to her soon.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (forty-five minutes past six o'clock P.M.)**_

Ginny hurried through the corridors, the Invisibility Cloak about her and her _Muffled_ feet making no noise as she hastened with a cautious but brisk stride towards her first goal of the night: the wand cabinet on the fifth floor.

So far, her luck had held and she remained undetected under the Invisibility Cloak. Unfortunately, she was going to need to climb up the Grand Staircase, and she knew that the main causeway would be bustling with activity in preparation for tonight's festivities. Hopefully, she could use some of that confusion to her advantage…

As she hit the archway leading into the tower of moving staircases, she paused in the shadows to take it all in.

From her vantage point on the third floor landing, she could see that the various flights of steps were crawling with bodies rushing here and there. The noise was unbelievable. Orders were barked across the open space, people called out to each other from different levels, boot heels hit stone at a variety of paces, and beneath it all, there droned the buzz of private conversation as the dark army headed towards the Great Hall for dinner or to finish up last minute preparations elsewhere about the castle. All of it echoed through the vast tower, creating a clamouring racket that rivaled the blaring pandemonium of a Weird Sisters concert on its best day.

Glancing below, Ginny noted the sea of black-robed figures gathering about the Entrance Hall. Interspersed amongst the crowd were individuals dressed in swatches of muted colours – Snatchers, the initiates of Mort's army. The group hung about, waiting for the giant oak doors into the Great Hall to open at half-past the hour, signaling the service of dinner.

Well, at least that group wouldn't be cluttering the stairs, she wryly thought.

The crowd suddenly parted to let a large, imposing figure through the middle. Ginny instantly recognized the grotesque visage of the man-beast, Fenrir Greyback. He'd murdered Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks during the Battle at Hogwarts years before. The monster paid no heed to those around him even as they cringed away from him and whispered at his passing. He headed down some stairs off to the right, with some unfortunate fellow slumped across his wide shoulders. Perhaps a prisoner or a wounded comrade, she figured. Either way, in the lycan's hands, the poor, unconscious man was doomed, as Greyback was known to enjoy the taste of man flesh. She'd heard enough rumours even as far away as San Francisco to know of his cannibalistic ways.

She shuddered at the thought and pulled her gaze away to perform a quick survey above.

Bloody hell, a group of Snatchers were coming down from the fourth floor to the third, and they'd be on her landing in less than twenty seconds!

Making a snap decision, she performed a quick dodge across a moving staircase to the second floor landing below her, and ducked through the archway and behind a stone column. There she paused, glancing around the rounded column to determine her next break. From what she could see, there appeared to be no chance to head up until that assemblage of Snatchers moved down, as they took up the entirety of the staircase as they moved. Just her luck, though, the cluster paused on the landing she'd just left for a jaw jack.

_Come on, move your shaggy arses, _she silently willed, feeling the time fly by with a growing concern. The anticipation of Mort's arrival made every second count.

The fifth floor, where Phil had said the wand case was located, was a three-floor climb, now. It would take at least three to five minutes to get there on sneak-feet, depending on whether the movement of the stairs cooperated or not. Then, she needed to actually get the cabinet open and steal everything inside without getting caught, before finally heading down into the dungeons and freeing all of the prisoners. Arming the captives with wands was the only way to guarantee the maximum number of them escaped, as there was no way she could defend that many people single-handed when they made their break from the dungeons. Skipping the wand cabinet wasn't an option.

Every delay brought her plan one step closer to failure.

Even as she thought such a gloomy thing, the company of Snatchers split, some of them heading down the third floor corridor, which had been converted to lower-level Death Eater and higher-ranking Snatcher quarters, while the rest continued on down the stairs.

Ducking back behind the corner, Ginny waited with bated breath, listening to their movement as they tromped past her hiding place. When she gauged that it was safe to peek once more, she did so… and found that the bands roaming the staircases were thinning out as the doors to the Great Hall below opened, letting in the crowd for the evening meal.

Timing her movement to that of the stairs, she hurried upwards, stopping only once to hug the wall when a solitary witch passed by her. Within two minutes, she was at the fifth floor, and cautiously moving down the corridor.

According to Phil, the wand cabinet was located near the Art and Music Rooms, and he'd supposedly deactivated the alarm charm around it for just this moment. It took only a moment more to confirm that the wands were, indeed, found inside the glass cabinet situated to the direct left of the old Music Room.

She paused within feet of her goal, knowing this would be the time when everything went bollocks up if she didn't take at least the minimum precaution. "_Hominem Revelio,"_ she quietly cast up and down the hall, only to find that once more, it appeared her luck was on her side; she was the only person on this level at the present moment. Well, at least she didn't have to worry about a physical guard.

Now to see if the alarm charm really was disengaged. Reaching out, she pulled open the glass door….

…and an ear-splitting screeching began.

Shite, a Caterwauling Charm!

Hurriedly, she gathered as many wands as she could, keeping half an eye out at the far end of the corridor where she knew a security agent or three would appear at any moment. She tossed the wooden rods into a bag at her hip. Dozens fell through her slick palm into the gaping, black abyss of the bag, which had been bespelled with an Undetectable Extension Charm, before the sound of running steps approached from the stairs.

Turning, she was forced to leave the majority of the wands behind, and sought out an empty room across the way. As quietly as possible, she opened the locked door with a spell, and cast a powerful locking charm on the door behind her as she ducked inside. It wasn't much of a deterrent, but it would hold them off for a bit until she could consider her options.

Looking about, she realized she'd made a grave mistake picking this room for a hiding spot. There was no other visible exit aside from the one behind her – not even windows. Closer examination brought the realization that she'd entered the Muggle Studies showroom. Most of the artifacts that Professor Burbage had once had stored here were destroyed; the showcases where the old radios, post boxes, and vacuum cleaners had stood had been smashed to bits and their contents rent into pieces. The furniture had been rearranged, turned over, and had the stuffing ripped out. Who would do such a thing and why? Was this some sort of "time-out" punishment room?

As she moved towards the door, listening to the sounds on the other side, she parsed out that there were probably a dozen Death Eaters and/or Snatchers waiting out there. One of them gave orders to find the intruder, "and bring them to me alive."

Bloody hell, that didn't bode well. She swore under her breath all manner of colourful metaphors.

"Peevsie knows you're there! Peevsie can hear you swear! Come out, come out, invisible girl!"

Shite, she knew that voice and that rhyming cadence.

Ginny held perfectly still and remained silent, unsure whether Peeves would actually make things worse for her or not, given the situation.

"I promise not to tell. I promise not to yell."

Holding her breath again, Ginny waited, her senses stretched between the poltergeist in the far, top corner of the room and the men outside the door.

"Play with me! Talk to me! _Anything!" _Peeves whined, sounding uncharacteristically melancholy. "They locked me in here with a spell! I haven't seen another person, beast, or thing in… in years! You're the first. Please, please, please, please, please, please!"

Ginny considered the situation. Someone had actually managed to contain Peeves? Bad idea. She knew what kind of havoc he would wreak if he ever got out…

An idea came to sudden life in her head: she could use this situation to her advantage.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone I'm here?" she asked in a hissed whisper.

Peeves shot down from the ceiling, directly in front of her, having homed in on her voice. He practically vibrated with joy, bouncing up and down in the air and clapping his hands together. "Yes, yes. I promise!"

Slowly, Ginny removed the Cloak's hood, letting only her head become visible. "Hello, Peeves."

True joy lighted up his freakish features. "I remember you. Red hair and freckles! Weasel-Weasel-Weasley! They sent you to rescue me, didn't they?" He zoomed in and actually hugged her head in a vice-like grip. "I always liked the twins!"

"Mmmurph," Ginny managed to mumble, smothered as she was. Pushing against the little poltergeist's body, she managed to detach him. "Yes, I'm a Weasley. You guessed right."

Faster than she could track, he flew around her in circles like some sort of living Snitch. "Someone else to talk to – finally! Oh, how I've missed tormenting your kind!"

The handle to the room jiggled. Someone on the other side was trying it. "Locked from the inside," a man called out.

"Well, blast the bloody thing open!" someone else replied.

Ginny and Peeves went still as stone, both of them fixated on the door.

"Can't. You know that little blighter's caged up in here. Can't risk letting him out," the first man said.

Peeves growled. "Little Blighter, eh? Just you wait until I get out of here! I'll show you a blight you'll never forget!"

Ginny couldn't have asked for a more perfect line than that. "You want to torment people? I'll make you a deal: I let you out of here, and in return, you distract everyone you can for the next hour or two. Create enough of a ruckus to lead them away from the Great Staircase and out of the dungeons."

A serpentine, narrow-eyed stare was directed at her, as the poltergeist considered her offer. "Can I go as wild as I want? I have a lot of anger to work off, you see." He indicated the smashed furniture around them with a wave of his hand.

Their nasty grins matched right then as Ginny nodded her head. "Let 'em have it."

Peeves rubbed his palms together in anticipation, his piranha-like teeth giving him a nightmarish appearance. He truly was the personification of Chaos right then. "You have a deal, She-Weasel."

She nodded and lifted her wand, reaching back for the hood of her Cloak to once more cover up.

Merlin, maybe she really had a chance of getting out of this in one piece after all. If her luck held, maybe, she'd even be able to accomplish this mad plan of hers, too, and rescue all the prisoners. _Have faith,_ Phil had said to her in the calm after they'd coupled earlier, and she used that memory to gather her courage now for the fight to come.

Above her, Peeves cackled and zoomed around in a fast circle. "Fun, fun, fun to run, run, run!" he shouted." He looked down at her and winked. "Tell your brothers I said bye-bye, wise guy. And tell Potty Wee Potter to kill Mouldy Voldy for me. I really want his head to look like split monkey bread. Dead, dead, dead!"

She nodded. "Good luck, Peeves, and thank you."

Tossing the hood back over her head, Ginny knew she had gone completely invisible. She then cast a silent _Alohamora,_ and let loose hell upon the Death Eaters waiting outside.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (seven o'clock P.M.)**_

Phil had just made it to the kitchens without incident when a series of unexpected explosions went off from somewhere far above. Down here, they felt like small earthquakes that caused him to slightly sway. The sound was muted by the thick rock above their heads, and had about the same impact noise as someone bouncing a bludger off a padded wall one floor up.

Bless her sweet, freckled bum; Ginny was creating a diversion, just as they'd planned. As a Weasley, no doubt it had something to do with explosive materials; he remembered the fuss her brothers had made that year they'd stuck it to old Umbridge. Where she'd found such items, he had no idea - maybe stashed somewhere for emergencies in advance of the war, like the Cloak? He'd have to ask her later.

The small army of house-elves inside the sweltering hot environment paid little attention to the noise upstairs. Almost every pair of ears twitched, yes, signaling they'd heard the ruckus, and a few small, grey faces even looked up, but none stopped working. They all maintained an almost furious pace while cooking and cleaning, and Phil was able to pass by them without detection, his Disillusionment spell keeping him hidden from sight, and his _Muffled_ shoes preventing his steps from giving him away.

Ginny and he had gone over this plan many times over the past few days, and he was still unsure of bringing it off if he was caught, knowing how strong a house-elf's loyalty and sense of duty could be. For that reason, he moved with extra caution, heading for the large cauldrons at the other end of the room, as they boiled on roaring files in the giant cooking hearths.

He'd been steps away from achieving his goal when he was brought up short by a smallish, female elf carrying a tray of fresh, baked rolls.

"How can Winky serves the Master Death Eater?"

Heart pounding in his chest, Phil stopped on a Knut, thinking the tiny creature was addressing him… until he felt the change in air pressure as a fully-grown human stalked past him. He didn't dare move an inch as the man the elf had addressed made a beeline for the cauldrons.

"Vhere is elf guard?" the Death Eater demanded.

The voice was strangely familiar, although Phil couldn't place it. He couldn't discern any defining details to clue him in, either, as from his angle all he could see were the dark robes filled out by a bulky, well-muscled body, and that the man had thick, dark hair.

An older, grizzled elf approached from the side. It had a pronounced limp on the left, and its left hand was held tight to the center of its chest and curled up, clearly having been damaged beyond repair. "Mistress Jones pulls him away," the elf explained. "Says she needs him. Tells us to keep working."

A snarl ripped from the big man's throat and he turned his wand on the elf, casting the Cruciatus Curse. The small body fell to the ground and writhed, screeching in pain.

"Fool! Lord Mort comes tonight. Vhat if attack above is meant to distract as someone comes to poison food again?"

Phil's heart practically stopped. The gig was up; someone knew he'd poisoned that batch of meat weeks ago, and his opportunity to do so again tonight was compromised. He couldn't follow through with the plan so long as this Death Eater stood between him and his goals.

Which meant he was going to have to kill the man and swear the elves to silence – if they could be convinced to do so. Raising his wand, he pointed it right at the enemy and prepared to let loose an _Avada_, seeing no other choice, as time was not on his side. The spell died on his lips, however, as the man turned and he recognized the profile.

Holy shite. Fuck.

It was Viktor Krum.

Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Did he trust that this senseless cruelty was all a part of Viktor's grand scheme to ingratiate himself with the Death Eaters, as he'd told Phil that he and his pal, Sorin, had planned to do before they'd split to come here. Or, had the man really joined the opposition's cause? It all came down to a question of faith, didn't it? Did he believe that the Cruciatus Krum had just cast was part of a clever ploy, or had it been real?

It didn't really matter, he realized. Either way, he couldn't afford the risk or the delay. There was a much bigger picture to consider here. They'd all gone into this plan understanding that sacrifices might be required of them.

He raised his wand and cast the _Stupefy_ before Krum could notice him. Knocked back by the spell in a flash of crimson, the big Bulgarian hit the opposite wall and slumped to his side, unconscious, his wand flying out of his hand to land several feet away.

Wasting no time, Phil hurried over to the bubbling series of cauldrons tucked inside the large fireplace. As he reached into his inner robe pocket, a small, squeaky voice stopped him cold.

"Winky thanks the Master Death Eater for saving friend Kreacher, but Winky cannot allow Sir to poison the food."

Phil turned to see the small, female house-elf staring up at him with tears in her eyes. Apparently, his spell work had given him away, and somehow the elf could see him through his Disillusionment spell.

He paused, considered his options in a micro-second, glancing about. The other elves in the kitchen had all stopped and were staring at him as well. Yeah, they could see him. His cover was blown.

Not wanting to scare the creature, he bent to her level at a slow pace and cast a "_Finite_" on himself. Speaking in a gentle tone, he tried to reason with the little servant. "Winky, would you say you're a loyal servant of Hogwarts?"

The elf's eyes widened and she nodded. "Yes, Sir, Winky is the most loyal of house-elves."

"Well, I'm a loyal servant to Hogwarts, too," he admitted, pointing at himself for emphasis. He knew the elves were childlike in their thinking, and so he played upon her fierce loyalty to the school to appeal to her. "And I know that evil men have taken over the castle. I know they have killed all of the wonderful professors who were here before, and many of the students that you were tasked to protect as well. For that reason, I'm here to stop them. I won't let them hurt anymore people or elves."

Winky glanced over her shoulder at the others, who had begun putting their rolling pins and stirring spoons down, listening.

"Will you help me save our school - the school you swore to protect?" he asked.

"But, we serves new masters now, Sir," Winky hesitantly stated, wringing the hem of her filthy, tattered towel, which served as as shift.

Fervently, Phil shook his head. "Did you receive clothes from your old masters - the teachers who were here before the Death Eaters came and took over? Were you released from your service to them first?" There were more than a few grayish, knobby heads that shook in the negative. "Then these new masters can't overrule those old oaths. You still belong to Hogwarts, not to Mort or any of his Death Eaters."

"But Sir is a Death Eater," the elderly elf called Kreacher pointed out in a pain-laden voice, pulling his broken, old body up from the floor with some effort.

Again, Phil made a hard denial. "I'm not. I'm in disguise. I was secretly sent here by Dumbledore's Army to save you all." He's been a part of that group long ago, and knew the name would carry weight with these diminutive creatures.

Gasps of awe could be heard from the gathering elves, who abandoned their posts to come closer and listen. Many of them had their ears up and their mouths agape with surprise. In every face, Phil could see hope blossoming. He had to make the hard sell now, while he had their attention. "Will you help me retake Hogwarts from the bad men who tricked you into believing that your service to the school was over? Will you fight with me - for Dumbledore, and all the old teachers, and all the former students? For your home?"

There was a pregnant pause, and for a moment, Phil thought he'd failed to reach them.

Winky stepped closer. "For Hogwarts and for Dobby, Winky will fight, Sir," she announced, raising her little hand into a fist and holding it above her head.

There was a murmur of ascent from the group, and one-by-one, little hands rose in solidarity.

"Kreacher serves the Noble Harry Potter," the grizzled elf stated loud enough for all to hear. "He does not belong to Hogwarts."

"Harry Potter is has been dead for a long time," Phil gently explained to the elf. "You have no master now, Kreacher."

Little faces that a moment before were filled with fire, now looked nervous or sad. Hands dropped out of the air and ears fell.

Kreacher stared long and hard at Phil through rheumy eyes before shaking his head quite firmly. "No, Master is not dead. He is not himself, but he lives. He lives inside the other one. Kreacher is bound to serve him until the end."

Harry Potter was alive?

The elf was bound to serve...

He glanced over at the elderly servant, noting the dark glint in his eye. Shite, Kreacher was going to stop him from poisoning his Master, wasn't he? "You don't have to interfere. Your Master will be safe," he bald-faced lied to the elf.

The elf's single, remaining undamaged hand came up and his first and third fingers pressed together. "Kreacher is sorry, Sir, but Master Harry Potter must not be killed." He snapped his fingers and cast his elf magic.

The queer fish-hook sensation of Apparition took hold just under Phil's navel, and he felt his body compress and flung far...

When his feet hit the ground with a jarring sensation, he nearly lost his balance and toppled over. Quickly looking around, he found himself in the centre of a dark patch of forest, the canopy overhead showing nighttime sky. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew his wand.

_"Lumos."_

The tip of his wand gave off a brilliant, white flash.

Something directly before him gave an inhuman screech. Segmented legs and a pair of huge pincers covered in coarse black hair - the size of his forearm, easily - loomed menacingly up into his face, but fell back from the light.

Phil tumbled to his arse and crab-crawled backwards at a fast pace to get away, tossing out a hasty _"Avada Kedavra" _in panic. The Acromantula collapsed. A second later, it was swarmed by a group of smaller spiders, who began feasting.

Terrified, escape his only instinct, Phil Apparated away to the sole place he could think of in that moment: the Wicklow Mountain encampment.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (twenty past seven o'clock P.M.)**_

Fay hurried from the Medical Tent to find Penelope Clearwater to give her the news of Neville's condition. She had to get to the woman and explain things quickly, before she went to the War Tent, where Malfoy had assigned her to go.

As she hurried through the camp, she checked the tent Penny shared with her fiancé first, but it was empty. Figuring they must be at the Main Pavilion - or at least someone there would possibly know where they were if not - she passed by Stephen Cornfoot and Julie Bell creating a variety of impromptu Emergency Portkeys, made up of a variety of miscellaneous items of little-to-no consequence. Stepping over a lumpy, old pillow and around a holey towel that they'd placed on the ground on a blanket to use for their purposes, she didn't even spare the two a nod, desperate to reach her destination.

Arriving at the Mess Tent, she rushed through the opening and glanced around. Penelope was sitting at a long table next to Pansy, clutching a ceramic coffee mug, staring with intense concentration into the dark, rich depths of her drink. The two of them were far from the rest of the crowd, which was closer to the food action on the far side of the tent, and so they had a relatively large area of private space. Fay hurried up to them.

"He's alive," she gasped, panting for breath. "But weak."

The redheaded witch abruptly sat up, her slumped shoulders straightening. Hope crossed her agonized features.

Pansy also sat up, surprise registering across her face. "He's healed?"

Fay gulped down some air and nodded. "As best as possible. The damage to his skull was the worst, but he's on Skele-Gro to close it and his fractured arm. Morag believes there was no injury to the brain itself. Daphne also managed to completely close and heal the puncture to his left lung, and it's working at one-hundred percent again. We fixed a cracked pelvis, and a slipped disc in his back, too, so he won't be running anytime soon, but he'll be able to _eventually_. We were lucky we had those supplies that Malfoy and the others broke into Mungo's for, because he needed a great deal of potions."

She paused, taking a deep breath to deliver the bad news next.

"You should know the weight of the ceiling and wall collapsing on him caused his old injuries to return. His left arm is all but useless - the bones are knitting back together, but MacDougall says the nerves didn't reconnect properly at the shoulder. She tried, but the damage to his head and lung took priority, so by the time she got to the arm, the nerves were beyond help."

Penny let out a shuddering sigh of relief, getting to her feet. She left her mug on the table and hurried off the bench for the tent exit. "He's alive. That's all that matters. I want to see him," she demanded, her voice roughened by barely-constrained tears.

Fay nodded. "I've set up a cot next to his for you, if you want to sleep next to him tonight. He shouldn't be moved until tomorrow at the earliest, to let the Skele-Gro do its job."

Clearwater agreed, and the three women trooped back to the Medical Tent. There, an exhausted Morag was just tucking the blankets up around Longbottom's chest.

Upon seeing her fiancé semi-conscious, and a white bandage strapped around his partially-shaved head, Penelope rushed to his side. The woman fell to her knees next to his cot, and took Neville's hand. He peeked through swollen, bruised eyes at her. "I thought..." She sniffed and pushed a heel of one hand across her cheek to rub away the tears, which flowed freely despite her attempts. She finally gave into the sobs, holding to him tightly. "I can't lose you," she wailed, pressing her cheek down on his open palm.

Weakly, Neville gave her a crooked smile. His cracked teeth - which Morag promised to take care of tomorrow, worried about giving him too many potions at once - were stained a reddish-pink from blood. "Won't," her former Housemate croaked. "Promise."

Exhausted to the marrow of her bones, Fay left the tent a few moments later, after assuring her patient was well-cared for and that Penelope had everything she needed to assure her rest. Pansy promised to stay and watch over them, and to call if his condition at all changed.

Dragging her tired body away, Fay headed towards the tent she shared with Charlie, her eyelids drooping as much as her energy levels. When she got to their cot, finding him not in, she slipped off her dirty, stained clothes and shoes, and slid between the blankets. With a final casting of a Warming Charm to keep the tent comfortable, she snuggled down and closed her eyes, letting sleep take her into its arms.

Her last thought before the darkness came was a wish of faith, made for her little Hope: that her daughter would never know a world without her father in it.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (forty-five past seven o'clock P.M.)**_

Will lay back in the cot he shared with Su, thoroughly exhausted. His mate was curled up in his arms next to him, having found her satiation through a mixture of blood and feeding off of the marathon sex session they'd just run.

Fuck, but he'd never done anything like that before! He'd ridden his little Vampiress so hard and come in her so much, driven as they both were by the _Jouisseur _that his bollocks were one, giant throbbing ache and his dick was too sore to even touch. It lay limp against his inner thigh, sticky and drained. There was no way he was getting it to stir any time soon, not even to take a slash.

The Veela within him was out for the count as well. It had expended too much energy back in Blessington during the fight, and then Apparating back and forth between the town and the camp. Not to mention then satisfying Su. The 'golden beast' - as he had begun thinking of it - was silent and still in his head. It was a T.K.O. for it for the foreseeable future.

Which meant he had one-hundred percent control of his own body again...

Finding a reserve of strength from deep within, he decided on a course of action: he would rise up out of the cot, get redressed, and muster himself to the edge of camp again so he could continue his search for Jeremy. And he would have to go it alone, as Su was still much too weak to accompany him. Her _Vampirius_ was mostly sated, and she was healing, but she needed to rest and recuperate.

Very carefully, he shifted his lover's arm from around his waist and nudged his way out from under her, careful to replace his body with a pillow and to tuck the blankets up over her shoulders. Getting to his feet was a bit harder, as the room spun a few times. He'd given up a lot of blood tonight.

It took another twenty minutes, but he managed to make his feet and replace his clothing. Retrieving his wand from the floor, he dropped the wards around the tent, keeping the Warming Charm in place for Su's comfort.

The camp was wide awake with all hands on deck, from what he could tell. The large pavilion was bright and loud, indicating a packed house. Small groups of others in twos and threes were walking either towards or away from the main tent, talking in hushed whispers. There was an edge of fear radiating around the warded area that set Will's teeth on edge.

He hurried to the edge of camp, trying to avoid his fellow teammates by sticking to the tree line, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation that eventually led to the question, "Oi, where are you off to in such a rush, mate?"

Mate.

Jeremy...

His lover had been wounded in a fight and was missing. He wasn't dead, that much was clear from the continued existence of their bond. That meant his mate had been captured, for if he'd just been too wounded to move, either Will would have found him in Blessington or Jer would have sent his Patronus along with orders for someone to come find him. Someone had taken him prisoner, and that person couldn't have been just a regular Snatcher or Death Eater. The captor had either been extraordinarily gifted in magic to be able to take down a fully-enraged male Vampire, or physically stronger than one.

Regardless, Will was going to have a fight on his hands to reclaim what was his.

He was just about to clear the last tree and make a dash towards the edge of the Apparition wards, when someone stepped out from behind a tree directly in his path. He froze, his wand coming up in automatic response.

"You mean _we_ will have a fight on our hands to reclaim what is ours, _Baeuja_."

"Su? How-?" He stopped, realizing that she must have awoken to find him gone and run to get ahead of him, despite her injuries. "What do you think you're doing out here?" he demanded, dropping his wand and closing the distance between them. His breath frosted in the chill winter air. "You're just recovering from a knife that came too fucking close to your heart for my peace of mind." He pointed back towards the camp and firmly stated, "Go back and rest."

In the darkness, Su's eyes glowed red; her _Vampirius_ was close to the surface. "No, and you cannot make me go, so do not bother trying."

She stepped into the curve of his body and wrapped her arms about him with a sensual grace that had him immediately noticing how soft she was, and that she smelled of him and sex. It was too dark to see her expression, but Will knew what she was attempting even without the glimpse. "Sweetheart," he growled, "no."

"Yes," she whispered with sultry insistence, reaching between them and shoving her small hand down the front of his jeans, cupping his cock. He groaned at her touch. "We will do this together, mate. Take me to Blessington, and I will feed from one of those despicable minions of Mort that betrayed us. I will feed until I am fully healed. Then, your Veela can feed from the sex between us again, and we will both be strong enough to hunt. It will only take a few more hours."

To Will's utter amazement, his todger was slowly, but surely awakening to her touch again. He was so sore, but man, that felt good, too! His head fell back as she caressed him until he stretched tight enough for his foreskin to pull back and reveal his crown once more. With slippery fingers, she teased the slit of his opening and he moaned at the exquisite ache her touch engendered. "God, how do you do this to me?" he muttered, feeling helpless before her power.

Her free hand reached up and gripped his hair, pulling his head back down towards her. She stood on tiptoe to reach his lips, kissing him with fire and spice and need all rolled into one. Even as her tongue plunged into his mouth, her fingers never stopped their wicked stroking. Helplessly, his hips began rolling upwards to meet her downward pulls.

They had to stop. Stop now or else the _Jouisseur_ would take them both again...

He backed her against a tree, and gently extricated her hand from his pants, keeping her close while at the same time, keeping her from driving him wild. "All right," he agreed, tearing his mouth from hers and pressing their foreheads together. His heart beat out a rapid tattoo under his breastbone, and his lungs struggled for breath. In so short a time, Su unmade him in a way that only Jeremy could before. "Shite, okay! I'll take you, but you have to promise me that if you're still too weak after feeding, you come back here. You promise me." He pulled her into his embrace and held onto her tight. "I don't want to lose you."

Her little hands, so deceptively delicate-looking, gripped him around the waist and held on with strength. "I promise. I cannot bear to lose you either, Willem. Not now."

"I'll send my Patronus to let them know we're leaving, and then we'll leg-it to the edge of the wards. Can you run the distance? It's only twenty or thirty yards."

She nodded. "I ran here to catch you, and made it in time. Though, I think you will have to Side-Along Apparate us, and then find me a person to feed from once we arrive."

Will let out a shaky breath. "No, I'll carry you instead." He turned to look over his shoulder, back towards the lights and sounds of the camp. "I feel like we're deserting them in their hour of need."

Su's cheek pressed into his chest, right over his heart. "They are our friends. They will understand."

"Yeah, I guess," he conceded.

Having agreed on their strategy, Will lifted his wand and performed the Patronus charm, using the memory of their mating to conjure it. It appeared as it always had for him since he'd been a third year in D.A.D.A. class: not as a wisp of white smoke, but as a golden ball of light. He sent it on its way with a message for Zabini and Malfoy, and then he picked up Su and ran with her towards the edge of the camp's wards, not wanting to risk being stopped for anything. Once there, he turned and Side-Along Apparated them both back to the cover of the forest just outside Blessington.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (eight o'clock P.M.)**_

Blaise had seen a lot in his short years, but this was one for the books.

"Their memories tell the same story, from their own unique perspectives," he confirmed to his colleagues, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the stabbing sensation that always accompanied a deep scan of someone's memories with Legilimency. "There's no evidence of memory tampering whatsoever, not for either of them." Frankly, he was amazed he was saying these things. "The story you said that Granger told you… it's legit."

Hands on his hips, staring down at his feet, Malfoy shook his head. His face was a mask of hard disbelief. "Weasley?"

The redheaded wizard ran a hand over the back of his neck. "His aura never changed during the mind reading. Hers either. I get no evil intention from either of them."

Draco finally turned back to Theo, and gave the man a single raised eyebrow. Nott tilted his head and pursed his lips, sighing. "Right, I'll have another go at him."

Blaise vacated the chair he'd been sitting in, giving it over to his former Housemate, and went to stand next to Draco. Theo sat and began mental preparations, closing his eyes and finding inner calm.

The precautions Malfoy was taking with McLaggen were smart. The man was a Tracker, and knew spells that could turn them all inside out or worse. It was best to be absolutely sure before lowering their guard.

"You should know that McLaggen made an Unbreakable Vow to protect Granger with his life," Blaise said, speaking to all those in the tent. "Actually, it was even stronger than that. It's… like no magic I've ever heard of before. The Captain recognized it as old magic and very powerful. She thought it to be the same spell Potter's mother had used to save his life from You-Know-Who when he'd been a baby." He glanced over at the impassive blond, whose milk-white eyes stared sightlessly ahead. "He's expecting to die for her. He considers it his penance."

Malfoy turned to look through narrowed eyes at their prisoner. "Is that so?"

Blaise tapped his friend on the shoulder and nodded with his head for them to step aside together. When Malfoy turned, he leaned in and whispered low for privacy. "They both went wolf to get here faster, and you know what that does. Their attraction to each other is a strong one."

He could feel Draco's whole body tremble once, before the man was able to lock down his reaction and resume his icy-cold demeanour.

"They didn't cross any lines, but it was close," Blaise interjected. "She held firm against it by thinking of you. Still, you need to know: he's desperately in love with her. If you keep him alive, it could cause problems between you and Granger." He sighed. "On the flip side, the magic he cast – it's a type of sacrificial protection. If he dies for her, whoever kills him won't be able to harm Hermione, not with magic or the mundane. If they try, the damage will rebound upon them. It's a handy spell, but it also means you can't kill him while he's under the vow to protect her. If you do, you're screwing her chances at avoiding an _Avada_ later from someone who actually wants her dead – someone like, say, Mort."

His friend's frustration was palpable, but when he spoke, he was as cool as they came. "Thanks. Stick around, just in case."

Blaise nodded, and turned back to watch Nott as he cast the Memory Invading Charm upon McLaggen again, hoping it hurt like hell. The man may have been an unwilling victim to Mort's conversion - a fact that Blaise now believed, after having been in his head for the whole show - but he had raped his Pansy, and that was unforgivable. Even though he'd seen that it was Phaedra's doing, as she'd incited them both with her Sex-Witch abilities, and compelled them to act for her pleasure, despite their individual wishes, Blaise still wanted him to suffer for it nonetheless, just as his woman had in the aftermath.

He'd watched as an exhausted Cormac pulled out of her body, and how Pansy had immediately curled up into a ball in the middle of the mattress and cried, her black-hearted mother's betrayal complete. Her agonized tears had tortured him. He'd lingered upon that vision, burning it into his brain as if it were his own memory to keep - his lesson to remember for always. It impressed upon him the need to only ever touch her with love and tenderness from then on. It was a vow he intended to keep.

Truthfully, if it weren't for the fact that the Captain and Malfoy had expressly forbade killing the former Tracker, and that doing so would nullify the protection the man had magically granted to Granger with his ancient vow of protection, Blaise would have taken pleasure in peeling the former Tracker's skin from his body, inch by inch.

If he was really lucky, he might still get the chance, if the guy survived the war.

Until then, Blaise could wait for the right moment to find his revenge. He just had to have a little faith that it would come when he'd be there, wand at the ready.

**X~~~~~X**

_**The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland**_

_**Monday, October 30, 2000 (ten past eight o'clock P.M.)**_

Adrian's eyelids peeked open at the sound of someone opening his cell door.

Too weak from starvation - he hadn't eaten in too many days to remember - he lay there and wished that whoever was coming for him this time would just finish him off finally. He was tired, and despite Cadwallader's promises of eventual liberation, he just couldn't find it in himself any longer to keep going.

"Get up," an unknown woman's voice hissed at him. "We're all getting out of here."

A spell struck him, and he instantly recognized it as a Healing Charm by the warm buzzing across his skin.

"Come on, get up! The others are waiting for us. You're the last."

He was pulled up by one arm, and it suddenly occurred to him that this was the rescue he'd been waiting weeks for.

"I've a wand for you, if you'll only get up!" the witch demanded again.

A wand.

To have magic coursing through his fingertips again... To be able to finally take his revenge... The thoughts gave him strength, and he pulled upright with all his might into a sitting position.

"Hurry," someone from the door urged them.

"Put this on," the woman who maintained a hold on his elbow urged. A pair of too large trousers landed across his lap. "Quickly now! We haven't time to dally."

Despite his mind's commands to move faster, Adrian found it difficult to budge his sluggish limbs. It seemed to take an unnaturally long time for him to simply grasp the clothing.

"For Merlin's sake," his saviour snarled, and she let him go, walking around the front of him and bending before him. Taking the slacks from his hands, she shoved his legs through them and tugged them up. "Some help here, if you don't mind," she said in a harsh whisper to her co-conspirators by the door.

Three people took hold of his limbs, and another his waist, and they all pulled together to get him up and off the floor, while the witch secured his clothing in place and cinched the waist with a quick spell. She then shoved a wand into his hand. It wasn't his, he knew from the feel of it, but it was full to bursting with magic. His slow pulse quickened.

"Carry him," she commanded one of them - a man of about Adrian's size. The wizard ducked under Adrian's arm and hefted him up and over the back of his shoulders in a traditional fireman's carry, while she cast a Featherlight Charm on him to make his burden less on his temporary guardian. Together, they headed out of his cell and into the hallway. "Remember," the witch cautioned her group, which Adrian could now see was comprised of about a dozen other prisoners, "when we hit the stairs, run as fast as you can to the seventh floor corridor and don't stop for any reason. Jump between moving platforms if you need to. If you have to cast spells, try for defensive first - _Protego,_ specifically. You're carrying unfamiliar wands, and they have to adjust to you as the new owners."

"What if we have to... you know... duel our way out?" an older witch asked. Her hands were trembling, and she was emaciated. She fidgeted, pushing her long, dirty blonde locks out of her face. "The wands might turn on us."

"Try jinxes and smaller hexes first - distraction techniques. Pair _Avis_ with _Oppugno_ and send birds to attack for you. _Impedimenta_ and _Langlock_ are also good ones to stop people from casting at you. The Jelly-Brain and Jelly-Legs Jinxes, _Tarantallegra_, Babbling Curse, Slug-Vomiting Charm, Conjunctivitus Curse, and Trip Jinx all might keep someone distracted trying to break that spell, giving you time to escape. If those work for you, then move up in offensive strength, if necessary," the witch who was their leader advised. "However you can get there, once you're at the seventh floor, head past the Gryffindor common room and down the hall to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. From there, turn around to face the opposite wall. You have to walk back and forth in front of it three times and think about what you want to get a secret door to appear. Whoever gets there first, you must think of the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore that leads to Hogsmeade. Wish for it to appear, and then go through the door. Once you're inside the room - called the Room of Requirement - pull Ariana's portrait aside and walk through the tunnel that'll appear. You'll come out in The Hog's Head. From there, you can go anywhere you want. If you want to join the rebellion, see me in the pub. If I don't make it that far... get to a coast, and from there, find a way to head to California in America, if you can. It's free territory and there's a resistance group there."

She stopped, looking at each member, and it was then that Adrian recognized her red hair and freckled face, even at the almost upside-down angle he was hanging. "You're Potter's girl - a Weasley," he croaked, his throat so dry it cracked.

"Yeah, I am," she confirmed, and there was a hopeful-sounding gasp or two from the group. She shook her head, though. "Later. Right now, let's get out of this hellhole. Everyone ready?"

There were some grunted assents, and a few affirmative replies.

"Good luck everyone," she wished them.

They turned and headed for the exit to the dungeons. Adrian took that time to consider his new wand.

_You will obey me, _he commanded it, hoping that it would react like his old wand had in that respect. He had a natural affinity for the things - Mister Ollivander had dubbed him, "a wand-maker in the making," when he'd first gone into the old wizard's shoppe to get his wand at the age of eleven. He hoped that were the case, and that this wand would serve him in protecting the man hauling him around.

He glanced down at his protector-slash-newest teammate. Whoever the bulky-shouldered wizard was, Adrian was going to owe him big. "I'll watch your back, you run," he rasped at the guy, and felt the confirming nod.

"Da. Ve vork together for freedom."

Adrian recognized the accent as Eastern European. "Russian?" he asked.

The dark head shook back and forth. "Bulgar."

Ah. That explained it. He was a Bulgarian wizard, probably hailing from Durmstrang. How did he get all the way over here, though? "I'm Pucey. Adrian Pucey," he whispered, his throat simply too sore to speak any louder.

"Damyan Krum," the man introduced himself.

"As in, Viktor Krum?"

The head dipped. "He is little brother."

Bloody hell. Talk about a small world. "He's with us, the rebels."

"Da. I join, too."

Wonderful. "Glad to hear it," Adrian said in a low murmur. "Get us out first, though."

The man chuckled. "I try."

Well, it was the best Adrian could hope for just then, so he wasn't looking this gift horse in the mouth. It was going to take a big leap of faith for him to believe that they'd get out of this one alive, but at least he'd go down fighting. "Thanks."

"You owe if we live," the Bulgarian joked.

"Sure thing." Slytherins didn't usually like owing favours, but just then, he'd agree to that if the chance to get out of here in one piece.

Just then, they came to the main door up and everyone was hushed as the Weasley girl cracked it open and looked around. When she signalled for them to hurry after her, the group did, their shoes _Muffled_, obviously by a spell cast in advance of their rescuing him.

From somewhere outside the castle, explosions could be heard going off, and there were raised voices screaming and shouting. Someone was attacking the Death Eaters. Whoever it was, they were either a brave soul or a lunatic.

As they came up to the stairs leading into the Entrance Hall, they slowed again, and the man carrying him shifted his shoulders a bit, jarring Adrian. _This is it, _he thought, raising his wand and forcing his mind to try to focus and stay alert. Once they got up the stairs, it was show time.

On a signal from their red-headed leader, the group moved up the stairs together, and every wand was up, every face resolute. They were getting out of here tonight, or dying in the attempt.

The first spells were cast by those in the front of the group, mostly _Protego_, but there were some jinxes hurled and a _Stupefy_ or two. From his higher vantage point, Adrian could see the Weasley witch covering for the group as she hurried them past her towards the Grand Staircase. Adrian and Damyan made a break for it, and boy, could the man run! Of course, the Featherlight Charm on Adrian's weight nullified his burden, but still...

In seconds, they were up the first set of stairs, heading for the moving cases. Turning his head, Adrian saw a few Death Eaters approaching from below. He threw out a few hexes.

The race to escape was on.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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_****_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review!**


	31. Ch 29: Too Far From Where You Are

**Author's Notes:**

**Another huge update for you with ~12.5K worth of story to sink your teeth into. Plots are beginning to coalesce, as we're in the final 1/3rd of the story now. Let me know what you think by leaving a review!**

**THANK YOU UNSEENLIBRARIAN for beta-ing this huge chapter in record time! You are wonderful! Folks, please remember to leave UL some love for her hard work assuring this story is edited for you!**

* * *

**_CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Too Far From Where You Are_**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (fifteen past eight o'clock P.M.)_**

Phil jumped to the last known location of his fellow insurgents, appearing at the western-most edge of the Wicklow Mountains Park, and spent the next hour jogging east into the centre of the protected sanctuary towards where he recalled the base camp had been.

The agreement he'd made with Snape before he'd left was that he would never Apparate directly to the edge of camp if he returned from anywhere near The Fortress. He was also supposed to have jumped to at least two other random locations before heading into camp to avoid being traced, but Phil hadn't had time to even consider that plan when he'd Disapparated from the Forbidden Forest. Besides, the camp was heavily warded, so those outside the confines of the spell couldn't see it. It was safe.

His concerns were eased the moment he approached the camp in plain sight and with his hands up, and announced who he was. He was met from behind by a stealthy Kenny Markham, who was apparently on guard duty. The man's wand pressed into his jugular.

"Who was my good friend who died at Kirkwall?" he asked.

Phil sighed. "Jason Swann."

"What game did you and I play back in Orkney soon after we arrived?" he continued the inquisition.

"Wizard's Chess," Phil answered. "You creamed me by mating my king in twelve moves or something ridiculous like that."

Kenny laughed. "That's because you suck at games of deceit. Hell, I'm surprised they didn't kill you where you went off to. Where was that by the way?"

The third question couched as casual conversation. Clever, that. For a former Gryffindor, Markham appeared to have taken on some rather Slytherin traits. _Must be management's influence,_ Phil thought.

"The Fortress," he replied. "Went there to kill Mort. Failed spectacularly at that, but did manage to off several Death Eaters with a rather nasty poison." He put his hands down and turned his head to look Kenny in the face. "Oh, and for your information: we might be getting an influx of new recruits tonight if Ginny Weasley succeeds in freeing the prisoners held in the castle, so don't panic if you see a bunch of people wandering around out here, looking for the camp. The wards hiding it are strong, by the way."

The dumbfounded expression on the other guy's face was clear even in the dim light provided by the moon.

Phil grinned at him. "Well, aren't you going to welcome me home before I dash off to Snape's tent for debriefing?"

Markham slapped him on the shoulder. "Good to have you home, mate."

Home. The word had Phil nearly in tears. Yes, he was home. Home with his surrogate family. The only family he had left in the world.

Yet, even then something - no, some_one_ was missing to make this picture complete.

_Freckles, you'd better get here soon,_ he thought, staring out in the darkness, worried about his witch. She'd better have made it out of The Fortress alive. She had to have... because honestly, he wasn't sure he could stand to lose her.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (twenty past eight o'clock P.M.)_**

Draco stared hard at McLaggen, ready to pronounce sentence on the man.

Theo and Blaise had corroborated the Tracker's story with multiple mind probes, Weasley had assured him that the man's aura reflected a genuine concern for Granger, and Hermione seemed convinced of the story about conversion. None of that meant shite to him, though. The fact of the matter was: Cormac McLaggen was a threat to them all, especially to Granger. She just refused to see that fact, too enthralled with the idea of saving the bastard.

Draco's inner wolf knew, though. It knew what the Death Eater was hoping for… and it wanted to rip McLaggen's throat out for it.

Zabini's hand slapped down on his shoulder. "You've got that look about you that says you're about to commit murder, mate."

Hermione's head snapped in his direction at that, lids flaring wide with panic. Frantically, she shook her head, mouthing the word 'no' in an emphatic manner. Her reaction made Draco's anger boil. That she would defend the motherfucker who had raped her twice, killed without conscience, and done unspeakable things to countless numbers of people made him consider tearing his hair out.

Black diamond flashes of light burst before his vision and he could feel inky shadows of destructive magic gathering in the palms of his hands. Power... power whispered to him in his mind, coaxing him to kill...

"Drake, stop!" Blaise barked.

As if he was breaking through a dream into the real world, the fury suddenly bled away to confusion. The magic he'd gathered in his hands dissolved into the air, inert.

_What-?_

The sudden, acute pain in his left eye that followed the release of the dark magic had him flinching and rubbing at it to take away the sting. It watered, and took him several minutes of blinking to clear up the cloudiness that fogged his vision.

Theo was suddenly at his side. "Mate, you all right? Let me see."

"I'm fine," he groused, turning his friend's reaching hands away.

"Bullshite," Weasley pronounced. "That's the second time I've seen that from you today, and both times... man, that's the darkest magic I've seen since... well, since the day Mort took Harry into himself."

Draco opened his mouth to tell them all to drop it, but was cut off by the appearance of a golden ball of light drifting through the tent and stopping before them.

_"We're leaving to find Jeremy. We're sorry, but... we have to do this. We'll be in contact."_

The ball broke apart into wispy, fog-like tendrils, dispersing in the air.

"Bradley's Patronus," Blaise informed them all, rubbing a hand in frustration over his closely shaved scalp. "Fuck, he's gone A.W.O.L. That's the last goddamned thing we need right now."

"Who's with him? He said, 'we'," Charlie asked.

Zabini shrugged. "Who else? The Vampiress. You know that they're magically tied together now somehow - all three of them. Mated, they called it."

Granger stood up then, pointing to her mouth and stamping her foot. She looked seriously vexed.

Everyone - minus McLaggen, of course - looked to Draco with some amusement, as if they expected him to rectify the situation. This only made sense, since he was the one to have magically gagged her to begin wtih. Still, Draco wasn't looking forward to the tongue-lashing he would receive the moment he freed her. Maybe he should keep her quiet a bit longer...

"I'd rethink that plan," Weasley cautioned him, clearly having read Draco's intention in his expression. "You know her temper. I wouldn't cross it. Besides, I think it's pretty obvious that she's who she says she is, and hasn't been compromised by the enemy. At this point" -he shrugged- "it's probably best to just give her what she wants, especially if you don't want to end up singing soprano for the remainder of your days."

Theo snickered. "Yeah, listen to the man, Malfoy." He nudged his chin in Granger's direction. "I agree. She's clean and safe. As for him-" He turned his attention to the still-bound and spell-gagged Tracker, and there was clear suspicion in his dark eyes. "I'd leave him trussed up. Even though I saw nothing to disagree with Granger's version of the story, I still saw plenty of other things to make me know I don't trust him."

Blaise crossed his arms, staring down at the Death Eater with undisguised hatred in his expression, and merely nodded in ascent. His jaw was clenched tight, as if he were forcibly holding back angry words.

Draco considered the recommendations of his two best friends. There wasn't much in this life he trusted, but he knew without a doubt that Zabini and Nott were solid. They'd been his closest confidants back in school, and despite the years and the directions their lives had taken in the war, that fact hadn't changed. Their opinions were genuine and credible, and their skills, dependable. If they said McLaggen was 'prisoner-of-war' material, then so be it.

Of course, it was easy to follow their advice, especially as it coincided with his own assessment of the situation and his private wishes.

The fact was he didn't want this piece of shite anywhere near Granger ever again. Now that he knew about the man's shape-shifting abilities, he could sense the animal within the other man, and knew it to be an alpha, like him. He knew McLaggen was looking to claim Hermione as his own, and given any small chance whatsoever to win her over, he knew the bastard would take it. He'd exploit her compassionate heart so he could get her to drop her defences. Then, he'd take her, fuck her, and leave her broken.

Just like he had before. Twice.

The red fury under Draco's ribs was a tight pressure that took every ounce of his discipline to contain.

"Keep him here, under constant guard," he commanded, flexing his hands, gathering a bit of that excess magical energy that seemed to buzz through him at odd times, like now. "Ward the tent against his leaving. Chain him to the fucking ground, if you have to. He's not to so much as twitch without one of you three knowing."

He crossed the distance to Granger, raised his hand to hover an inch away from her nose, and releasing some of the magic within him, he freed her from her captivity with a carefully cast,_"Finite Incantatum."_The white coating over her irises bled away, and those honey-brown eyes he'd fallen into so many times before came into view once more.

Her hand pressed over her throat, as if to soothe it, and she coughed twice. "Circe's arse, Malfoy!" she croaked, her voice Firewhisky-rough. "What in the hell has been going on since we split up at Kirkwall?" She glared up at him. "Go find Bradley and Su and bring them back here at once! We're going to need them. Mort's forces are doubling because of his conversions. We're facing an army of sociopathic fanatics. We can't afford to lose anyone."

"Then it's a good thing Ginny's bringing you some fresh recruits."

Everyone spun towards the tent entrance to see Phillip Cadwallader pulling the canvas flaps down behind him as he came in. He was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Hey," he greeted them with a wave, "I'm home. Mission accomplished. Well, sort-of."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Escaping The Fortress / Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (forty past eight o'clock P.M.)_**

Adrian and his burly, Bulgarian buddy had made it to the Room of Requirement, hopped through the portrait that the Weasley chick had indicated, and hustled through the long tunnel all the way under the castle, to Hogsmeade. It came out exactly where she'd promised: in the abandoned Hog's Head Pub. There, they'd met up with a dark-skinned witch and a redheaded man who was unconscious, and then the whole group had legged it to the edge of the village together, running all out for freedom.

Not all of them had been so lucky to get out of the castle, unfortunately. A few had been trapped by the moving staircases and recaptured. One unlucky bloke had fallen to his death from the sixth floor landing when he'd been hit with a Trip Jinx that sent him tumbling over the side. Two others had been felled by _Avada Kedavra_, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a bright green flash that lit up the seventh floor corridor.

Still, the majority of the prisoners had made the escape. Of those, about half of them now stayed behind to accept recruitment in the Granger-Malfoy insurrection as they paused just inside the cover of the woods. The others... well, they'd Disapparated the moment they'd gotten outside the village wards, disappearing in a series of thundering cracks and blurry motion.

Adrian felt sorry for the runners, for he knew that the majority of them would most likely be recaptured within a few weeks, given they had absolutely no support network in place, but he really couldn't blame them for scarpering as they had, either. Hell, the temptation to simply make his way to the coast and stowaway on some ship bound for America was a strong one. But then he'd be leaving behind Anica, and Granger, Zabini, Malfoy, Clearwater, Bradley, Stretton, Longbottom, Dunbar, and all of the others. That just didn't feel right to him. They were his family now, and he knew they'd need him as much as he needed them.

Besides, they were probably all starving to death by now, eating boiled shoe leather or some shite. In his opinion, not a one of them in camp could fix a decent meal from a limited menu selection, and quite honestly, he didn't place too high a faith in their creativity when it came to leftovers, either.

And his kitchen... fuck, they'd most likely ruined his system! He'd spent days setting those Bags of Holding up so that their stolen canned goods were placed in order by 'use by' date, and had assured that their limited inventory of spices stayed fresh by packing them in wax-sealed bottles, because the salty air of Kirkwall tended to ruin their unique flavours. No doubt those meat-headed friends of his had jumbled everything about since he'd been away - taking what they'd wanted, when they'd wanted, and to hell with his well-ordered arrangements.

Well, that sealed it for him: he _had_ to go back now, if for no other reason than to rescue those twits from their own disorganised ways.

"Right, so here's the plan," Potter's witch addressed the remaining group members in a hushed voice, drawing him back into the here and now. Everyone huddled closer, forming a circle with her in the centre, eyes and ears at attention. Adrian leaned heavily against Danyan Krum, still too weak-kneed from starvation to stand on his own, and put everything he had into focusing on the woman's words. "We're going to meet up with the resistance. Anyone not sure about this, then this is your last chance to back out. You're free to go your own way without judgement, but if you come with, you're in until the end of this war." She gave a very Weasley grin, baring feral, white teeth. "Personally, I can't wait to get a little payback once I'm rested and reinforced."

No one dissented or walked away. Every face was grim with determination. Some people even nodded with respect in the face of their de-facto leader's enthusiasm.

Weasley met every eye as she spun around, and then gave a very decisive nod. "Right then, here we go."

From inside the pocket of her jeans, she pulled out what looked to be a short section of severed curtain cord. Its ends were frayed and the braiding was coming undone, but its colours were unmistakably red and gold, indicating it had once been a piece of Gryffindor Tower. "Portkey," she explained. "My boyfriend set this one up days ago. He's been to Hermione Granger's camp. This'll take us to them. Everyone grab on to it or someone who has a firm hold on it."

The circle moved in even closer, and a dozen or so hands held tight to either the rope itself or to their fellow fugitives. Adrian secured a death-grip around his Romanian partner's beefy arm as the man grabbed onto the middle of the cord. The female Weasley raised her wand.

"Three, two, one," she counted down. "_Portus."_

As if he was being tugged sideways and upwards by an invisible, powerful fishing line secured somewhere behind his navel, Adrian was swept away by the spell. He shut his eyes against the flashes of colour as they moved at an inconceivable speed over a great distance, and attempted to overcome the sickness that gripped him in the midst of his free-fall.

Seconds later, they landed... right in the middle of a marshy, wet field.

Just like at Hogsmeade, it was pitch black all around and deathly quiet, as was typical at night, post-Mort's appearance. No Muggle lights worked anymore, so people generally huddled inside once the sun went down, believing themselves relatively safe behind locked doors from the monsters and things that were free-roaming about now that the Statute of Secrecy had been blown wide open.

A chilly, winter breeze rustled the waist high grass all around them, making Adrian shiver. His borrowed shoes sank into the mud, and the slippery, slimy feel of swamp water trickled between his bare toes. He attempted to pull them out of the muck, but the quicksand-like pressure made it difficult, and he lacked the strength to succeed.

"Fuck," he hissed, realising his predicament. "Shite!"

Next to him, Danyan was in a very similar predicament. "Da," he agreed, grabbing hold of Adrian and hoisting him up and over his shoulder again with some effort, despite the Featherweight Charm still in effect. "Is most definite a 'shit' time."

"Ya said it," a familiar voice with a distinct Irish brogue confirmed from somewhere off to his left and behind.

_"Lumos,"_ Weasley cast, and he had just enough sense to quickly look down and away to avoid the flaring, white light's brilliance. "S-Seamus?" she gasped. "Oh, Godric! Is that you?"

Seamus, as in Finnigan? But... that wasn't possible!

"Ya, it's me, Gin," the man confirmed. "In th' flesh. Or not, as th' case may be."

Adrian felt as if he'd been walloped by a Bludger. Finnigan had died less than six months ago. He'd attended his teammate's funeral. How was it possible the guy was here now?

The light moved away, and Adrian turned his head, shifting in the older Krum's hold. "Turn about," he whispered to his companion. "I want to see."

With a sucking pop, the big Bulgarian moved to higher ground.

The Weasley witch was standing on a drier patch of land, he noticed, not far from where they'd landed. Lucky that. And floating not three feet away from her was a glowing ghost... whose features he instantly recognized.

So, Seamus really was dead, but he just hadn't crossed over. From what Adrian knew from his school lessons, that meant his old chum had either had unfinished business that needed resolution, had been exorcised and turned into a wraith (although, then he'd be tied to one location, and it seemed unlikely that place would be here… in the middle of the _fecking _wilderness), or he'd been too yellow to catch the A-Train out of this world and into the next. Either way, the Irish-lilted mother-fer was damned until he consciously decided to fix the problem and get the hell out of Sussex once and for all.

Poor bastard.

"What-? How-?" The Weasley witch seemed confounded. She looked the ghost up and down, as if disbelieving what she was seeing. "What in the hell happened to you?"

The dead wizard tossed her an amused grin. "I went and got meself killed, is what. Tha's no important right now, though. I take it ye've just escaped somewhere wicked, an' are lookin' fer Granger, yeah?"

"Um, yeah. We just dodged The Fortress."

Seamus lost his good humour then, his grin dropping away in a beat. "Ya didn't jus' jump from there ta here, did ya? Tell me ya didn't."

Weasley frowned. "We Portkey'd from the edge of Hogsmeade here. Why?"

A slew of colourful metaphors escaped the Irish's mouth. Man, Adrian had forgotten that the guy could swear up a storm!

The ghost was floating around and around in a circle, as if he were pacing and thinking. Finally, he whirled on the redhead, zipping so fast and so unexpectedly into her face that she didn't even have time to take a step back before he was looming over her, scowling at her. "Ya'd better hope ya weren't traced, Portkey or no. Nev's been seriously injured. As in, close ta death. If th' camp is attacked… he won't be makin' no trips soon, if ya feel me, Red."

The witch seemed stricken by the news and dropped her eyes. "Portkeys can't be traced though," she countered.

"Ya'd better hope not," Seamus stated. He glanced around at the group. "I sense no Mark on any of 'em, so yer probably safe. Still, I'll go ahead and announce ya. Come in real slow-like behind, and keep yer hands in plain sight. No sudden moves, yeah? If I'da been on guard with a group approachin', I'd set off the alarm. Don't want that, no?"

Weasley nodded, seeming to regain some of her bravado. "Right, we'll do it your way. Just… don't lead us over any lakes, Sea." A teasing smirk inched up her pretty, freckled face. "You're the only one around here who can walk on water."

The Irish chuckled, his ire melting away. "Is good ta see ya, lass. Been too long, yeah?"

The girl looked up into the face of her friend and nodded. A wistful expression crossed her face. "Wish I'd come sooner. Sorry for not being here for you."

The spirit shrugged. "S'all good." A shark-like grin overtook his handsome features. "'Sides, like this, I can help in ways ya couldn'ta imagined."

"Talk no good vhen standing in mud," Krum announced with irritation, adjusting Adrian over his bulky shoulder. "And guest on back becoming heavy again."

Ah, the Featherlight Charm was wearing off, it seemed.

Adrian recast the spell, hoping his borrowed wand wouldn't start giving him any trouble, despite the fact it had been working quite perfectly for him up to this point. Thankfully, the spell went off without a hitch. "Better?" he asked his new friend as he felt his body becoming more buoyant.

"Da," Krum replied. "But shoes still vet."

"Swamp thins out 'bout a hundred feet that'a way," the ghost pointed off to his right. "Shall we, then?"

"Lead on," Weasley encouraged him.

They set off in a straight line, trying to stay as quiet as possible while sloshing through the wet brush with only their redheaded leader's wand and a dead person to act as their guides. Adrian couldn't help but feel they were taking a lot of things on faith.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (nine o'clock P.M.)_**

Blaise had listened to Cadwallader's story and felt a mix of emotions rioting around in his head: hope, excitement, nervousness, and dread.

The guy had really done it – poisoned off some of the Death Eaters and Snatchers. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten Mort. Still, it meant a few less enemies in the field, and that made Cadwallader a Hero with a capital 'H' in his eyes. The guy had big brass ones, as far as he was concerned, for having gone the distance and back again.

And he'd revealed the Kirkwall spy's identity at long last: Megan Jones. She'd been one of the four Blaise had singled out as a possibility, as she'd seemed a bit too quiet and had a rather overly observant manner to her. The bitch had had both Pucey and that poor sod, Oliver Wood, under her wand and had been torturing them both.

Then there was Krum: whose side was he really on? Had he been a victim of conversion, too? Had his pal, Sorin? Would they have to count the two amongst the enemy now?

Let's not forget the She-Weasel, alive and well… and if she'd escaped the castle alive, she'd be bringing to them some of her fellow escapees who might just be persuaded to join their cause. On her person, she carried the Invisibility Cloak – as in, the one with the power to hide its wearer even from The Reaper. That such a powerfully magical item existed at all was sort of the confirmation kick in the arse he'd needed to believe the whole 'who's the Master of the Elder Wand now?' theory Granger had been kicking around prior to her disappearance in Kirkwall.

Shite, but he almost couldn't wrap his head around it. The Deathly Hallows really, truly existed. Granger was wearing part of the Resurrection Stone on her hand, Phil had said. The Elder Wand answered to Draco, Granger believed. And the actual Invisibility Cloak was coming to them via Weasley…

…and a united front of wizards and witches was preparing to attack the island from various nations around the world in a few weeks. The war could be over in a matter of a couple of months.

Good news. Now the trouble was trying to figure out a way to connect up with their fellow wizards and witches when it was time to launch the attack, all without giving up their hidden location to the opposition.

But perhaps the most disturbing thing of all in his estimation was the confirmation of Granger's theory that Potter was somehow still alive, living in tandem under one roof, so to speak, with Voldemort and his snake. The house-elf Phil had mentioned had confirmed that it's Master was still alive, and its continued loyalty to Potter had cinched it.

He almost wished he hadn't been told that last bit. He and The-Boy-Who-Lived had never been friends back at Hogwarts, but he knew the wizard had been decent and good, and he didn't deserve to be punished as he was – trapped and helpless as a madman stole his power and did horrid things with his body that he couldn't prevent. It sounded worse than the Imperius Curse, because according to what Granger had said about her dreams, and what Phil had told them Ginny had said about hers, Potter was most likely awake and aware for all of it. He was just powerless to stop it. From his perspective, Blaise thought death would have been preferred.

"Well, it seems McLaggen's story of conversion was true," Theo pointed out the obvious.

And didn't that just fuck everything to hell?

"Doesn't change a thing," Malfoy stated, his firm tone brooking no argument. "He stays in chains and warded at all times. I want him blind and dumb to our operations." He stopped and stared over at the blond through narrowed eyes. "Deaf, too, I think."

Granger opened her mouth to argue, but Draco put his hand up in front of her face, palm out in the universal sign of 'don't fucking argue with me on this one'. His face was stone, his eyes steel hard.

Blaise watched the Captain's anger boil under her skin, but when she replied her voice was clipped and severe.

"Fine. Since it seems my opinions are no longer an important part of our operations, I'll leave you to it, then. Enjoy planning your war, boys."

With chin up and back straight, she attempted to march out of the tent with as much dignity as possible, but their fearless leader grabbed her arm to prevent her from leaving. She swung around and tried to tug herself free, but his grip on her was as unyielding as his temper.

"You go nowhere without me," he growled. "Never again!"

Granger huffed out an incredulous laugh. "Fuck. You," she snarled, meeting his rage head-on in a clash of wills that made Blaise raise an eyebrow, and caused Charlie, Phil, and Theo to stare with wide-eyed astonishment at such aggression. "No one holds me against my will!"

"Really?" Malfoy sneered down at her. "Then you're saying you stayed with McLaggen all these weeks because you wanted to?"

Granger shook with fury at the loaded implication. "At least Cor didn't silence or blind me, or instruct others to run roughshod through my most private memories!"

Uh-oh.

As those iron-hard, grey eyes shifted to Theo, demanding an immediate explanation, the guy put his hands up, declaring his innocence. "You said you needed to know if she'd been compromised. I had to go deep to find out what memories were real and which had been planted, if any. There was no other way. I'm sorry, okay?"

Blaise copied his friend when he fell under the hammer next. "Ditto, mate." He glanced at his Captain. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. Never my intention, you know."

To his surprise, tears wavered in her eyes. "Yeah, well…" She sniffed and rubbed at her cheek to catch the drip before it set off the waterworks. "I'll just scrub your heads clean later. With a bucket of soap," she told them both, pretending to be unfazed. Her attention turned back to where Draco's hand was wrapped around her wrist. "Now, let me go. I'll not stand to be a prisoner here any longer, _especially_ not yours. Your concern for your captives leaves much to be desired."

Just like that, a granite-like resolve returned to Malfoy's features, stiffening his spine. He stepped into her, looming over her smaller form. "I said: you go nowhere without me. Not ever again. Push me on this, Granger, and I'll break your wand, tie you back up, and keep you that way until this war ends."

Shite, he was not just threatening to take her completely out of the game, but holding her wand for ransom, too? Not smart. Bloody hell, he knew his best friend had been worried sick to death looking for Hermione for the last two months, but he was just begging to get bitch slapped, wasn't he? By the look on her face, it seemed Granger was just the witch to give it to him, too.

Annnnnnnnd if he could get a sickle for how many times he'd called something in advance, Blaise would be a very rich man by now.

It was with no amount of surprise that he watched as his Captain hauled back her free hand and brought it down and across Malfoy's cheek with all of the strength she could muster in her recently healed hand. Her palm connected with his flesh with a loud, stinging slap, and every bloke in the place winced at the sound. Draco's head turned with the blow.

"How dare you!" she seethed. "I'm not some helpless female you can boss around and threaten!"

Theo glanced over at him, a question of whether to interfere yet clearly reflected in the look he tossed him. Blaise quite firmly shook his head and folded his arms over his chest to watch and wait. He would do absolutely nothing to interfere in this explosive moment, knowing this scene between these two needed to play out. The tension between Granger and Malfoy had been building for the last two years – hell, even before then, back during their school days. It was about time they pushed something beyond its limits and broke through the wall of stubbornness that had always existed between them.

There was no question in his mind where this would eventually lead… Sure, angry sex wasn't exactly the smart move, but sometimes, it was a place from which to start… and usually it was exactly what you both needed to take the edge off.

Malfoy was quick to recover from the violence delivered upon him, his determination unchanged as he met his witch's gaze head-on once more. "You will do as I say," he stated, icy calm, his voice low and a touch menacing. "You swore to obey me two years ago, and this time, woman, you will. You will not go off alone anymore. You are to remain at my side at all times. And you will stay the fuck away from _him!_"

No question as to whom he was referring to there…

Ah, so this wasn't just about worrying about Hermione being kidnapped again. This was also the flaring up of the 'green-eyed monster' at its most visceral. Draco was worried McLaggen might very well be able to influence his witch right into his bed. After having rooted around in both of their heads, seeing how close they'd come to crossing lines on their journey here… especially in light of the kiss they'd shared when the Death Eater had sealed his fate with that ancient magic spell he'd used… Blaise thought that a rather wise suspicion on his friend's part. It _was_ a possibility that shouldn't be ignored.

Did he think it likely that Granger would wilfully betray her feelings for Malfoy? No. Did he think McLaggen capable of twisting her around and/or casting some influencing spell upon her to win her over? Absolutely. The man was more Slytherin now than he'd ever been Gryffindor; Mort's influence upon him would never be erased.

What was the saying? _'Once you'd stared into the Abyss, there was no looking back.'_ Blaise thought that sentiment applied quite aptly to their new "guest".

As was her nature, the Captain refused to be intimidated. She bared her teeth and got up into Draco's face. "Your arrogance borders on megalomania. You honestly expect me to trail along behind you like some little, whipped dog and do whatever you say? Think again."

Their fearless leader was obstinate as he met his counterpart's challenge without flinching. "You_ will_ follow my orders," he stated, his tone dark with barely-restrained fury.

Hermione had the guts to actually laugh in his face. "Right. Bet me on that."

Ooh, definitely not the right thing to say to a man who was desperately in love with you and jealous as hell of the competition.

To his surprise, instead of throwing the witch over his shoulder and cave-manning it out of the tent with her, Malfoy took a very deep, cleansing breath, his chest expanding to its full capacity, and then he let it out equally as slow. Finger by finger, he released his hold on Hermione's arm, as if he were forcing himself to let her go before his temper got the best of him. "Go to the big tent and wait for me," he instructed her from behind clenched teeth.

When she was free, Granger wiped the back of her hand on her jeans, as if trying to erase his touch. A muscle ticked in his friend's jaw in response.

"I'm going there because I'm hungry, not because it's your wish," she hissed, and turned for the tent exit. She paused at the flaps as he threw out a parting shot.

"He touches you just once, and I'll rip out his black heart. Bet _me_ on _that,_ Granger."

Without looking back, she hurried away, and the canvas fell back into place behind her.

The silence that descended on them after she was gone lasted only a moment before Blaise decided he'd had enough drama to entertain his private thoughts for the rest of the week. "So," he said, clapping his hands together, "who gets to pull the first watch on our boy over there?" He nodded in McLaggen's direction. "Who's the lucky fucker who gets to babysit for the night?"

"I have to go debrief Snape," Cadwallader said, looking a little bewildered by the proceedings he'd witnessed. With a quick turn, he was gone.

Blaise turned to Weasley.

The redhead shook his head and backed away. "Pulled a long stretch today on duty. Jumped around with a passenger from Blessington to here a few times. 'Sides, I have guard duty tomorrow at eleven. I'm beat. Time for me to hit up Mister Morpheus." He headed for the exit, his bulky upper body shouldering the tent flaps to the side with ease.

"You two, together," Malfoy stated, turning to their captive. This time, he used his wand when he cast the spell to render McLaggen deaf, too, cottoning his ears up nice and tight. "Alternate shifts for the night. No drinking. I'll find someone to take your places in eight hours."

With that, he exited the tent, and it was clear where his long-legged stride intended on taking him next.

"Fuck," Theo complained, transfiguring one of the benches into a cot. "I was looking forward to some alone time with Daph."

"Like I didn't have plans with my witch?" Blaise countered.

Nott rolled his eyes. "So, who's got the first four boring, soul-sucking hours?"

Blaise held a closed fist between them. "Ro-sham-bo you for it."

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (ten past nine o'clock P.M.)_**

When Hermione entered the main tent, looking for some food to fill her empty belly, the myriad of conversations all around dropped off in moments, and every eye turned towards her.

"Oh. My. God," Parvati Patil's pronouncement loudly filled the silence. "You're... alive."

Before she could even blink, Hermione was tackled by her former Housemate; Parvati caught her up in a fierce hug and began sobbing into her shoulder. As if on cue, the crowd hanging out in the main pavilion swarmed around her to welcome her home. Some of her friends were shedding of joy, while others described their relief at her safe return. People touched her, joined in the embracing, and cheered the turning of their luck.

Overwhelmed by the moment, Hermione didn't know how to react. Her arms felt like lead, her head fuzzy from exhaustion and the bickering with Draco, her heart a full-on marching band behind her ribs.

As she looked out over Parvati's shoulder, she and Pansy Parkinson locked gazes. The woman was leaning against a table beyond the group, arms folded over her chest, and immense satisfaction reflecting in her eyes.

"Don't look at me. I didn't miss you," the dark-haired witch stated.

Hermione felt her grin tug to life. "Liar."

Parkinson shrugged.

Ten minutes later, Hermione was finally sitting down at a full table with a steaming plate of food in front of her and a mug of warm tea in her hand. Anyone not out for the count, on border patrol, or in hospital had gathered in the pavilion to be near her, seeming to take heart in the return of their leader.

Leader. She really wasn't that anymore, was she? Malfoy had made that clear to her earlier. She'd been relegated to the role of figurehead and storyteller, apparently.

"What happened to you?" Julie Parkes asked, starting the ball rolling.

"Were you injured?"

"Were you captured?"

"How did you escape?"

"Did you find the missing others?"

She swallowed a long draw of tea, and put her hand up, asking for them to quiet down so she could answer their questions.

"Yes, I was injured at Kirkwall by a slicing hex. I was rescued. A… man… he healed me, helped me get back on my feet, and protected me as we made our way across England and Ireland to get here," she explained. "He... I don't want any of you to be alarmed when I say this, but he was one of our enemies – a Death Eater."

Gasps and frowns greeted that pronouncement.

Well, in for a pound...

"Before I tell you his name, I want to tell you what happened to him, so you'll understand why I trusted him enough to make the journey with him," she stated. "I found out that Mort's been using some pretty dark magic to fuck with people's heads over the last two years. Many of our friends who were captured and taken to The Fortress, they were experimented on with this magic. Some, like Professor Sprout from Hogwarts, died as a result. Those who survived... the magic twisted their moral compasses around, making them love to cause pain, and hate to feel compassion or mercy. They call the process 'conversion.' From how I understand it, it's like an Imperius Curse, only worse. It gives its victims autonomy, so they can control their own actions, but it breaks and remakes them into fanatics willing to fight for Mort's causes. Some really good people were changed against their will through this conversion. The person who rescued me from Kirkwall and healed me... he was like that. Mort converted him, changed him... made him evil against his will."

Parkinson slammed her hand down on the table. "I know who came to this camp with you, Granger: McLaggen, Mort's personal hound."

There were gasps and looks of incredulity around the table at that revelation.

"That motherfucker should be six feet under by now," Pansy continued, "and yet you're sitting here telling us that he was _innocent _of it all?"

"There's a difference between wilfully committing a crime, free of mind and with clear intent, and acting under a magical compulsion to do evil. If there wasn't, we would hold people under the Imperius Curse guilty," Hermione refuted. "None of us here – not even our best Occlumens – could have fought off the conversion process. Sprout tried, and she ended up dead, and she was a powerful witch, as most of you here know. Mort's mind is stronger than anything we'd imagined, and the weight of all that will crushing down on you…" She shook her head. "Add to that days and weeks of sleep deprivation, being forced to drink potions containing Mort's own blood so he could maintain control of your mind both awake and asleep, intentional starvation, multiple beatings and rapes… I don't even know how he survived it all, honestly."

"I'd have died first," Parkinson growled. "I'd have figured out a way to kill myself."

Hermione stared at the other woman, speaking very evenly. "You remember your mother's powers, I assume?"

Slytherin's former Queen blanched.

"Imagine that kind of focussed power multiplied by ten, and _maybe_ you'll get an inkling of why Cormac turned out the way he did."

Since most people at the table just then had escaped the confines of The Madam's House, they understood exactly what Hermione meant with such a comparison… and she'd been counting on that to make her point. Perhaps now they'd weigh such an issue before going vigilante on McLaggen's arse.

Scowling, Parkinson abruptly stood up and stomped off, her anger radiated behind her like a swarm of angry bees. Hermione didn't blame her, especially since she'd used a very personal and painful memory against the woman to explain her side of things – and to defend the man who had been responsible for committing such terrible acts against them both.

Exhaustion, recovering from serious injuries, having your brain probed, and fighting with Malfoy were no excuse for being so brutal; she'd have to apologise to Pansy later for being such a bitch.

The silence was uncomfortable.

"H-how… how do we know you're… telling the truth?" Rose Zeller dared to speak up. "I mean… he's a Death Eater, right? You could be… under his spell or something."

Before Hermione could open her mouth to reply, Malfoy stepped through the tent entrance and answered for her, obviously having heard the question.

"Because I had her thoroughly checked out by two powerful Legilimens and two aura readers. She's cleared."

His gaze locked onto her from across the room, flat and serpentine, but there was a warning glittering in those storm cloud eyes of his, too: _do not think to run_.

It took serious restraint on her part to maintain a calm façade before the others, especially when her inclination was to throw her mug at Draco's head. Instead, she turned back to Rose, ignoring him. "It was a smart question to ask." She let her eyes move around the long table, meeting each person's gaze to reassure them of her veracity. "So, now that you understand the situation, I'm setting a law down: no one is to approach McLaggen, or to go looking for a little revenge on him. I know most among you will never trust him" -she glanced at Draco and then quickly away again- "and honestly, I'm not asking you to. But understand that we need the information he has in his head about the enemy. He could blow open so many important secrets for us: Mort's plans, his troop movements, the ancient and forgotten spells he's trained his forces to fight against us with... that sort of thing. That information is more vital than personal payback. Therefore, he's completely off-limits, clear?"

There were a few nods, a few grumbled assents. Most people seemed more introspective, and she knew what they were wondering: how many of their enemy were amongst Mort's followers because they wanted to be, and how many were converted to be?

The question put the whole war in a whole new light, and made suspect their definition of the enemy.

"Also, this is important, so pay very close attention to me: even knowing what you do now about conversion, you absolutely _cannot_ flinch or pull punches if it comes down to a fight with Mort's people," she stated in a severe tone. "I can't stress enough that any hesitation could cost lives – yours, your team mates, or the whole group's. You ensure your own safety and that of the others here in camp first, and if that's not possible, you do what you must to protect the future for us all. If someone raises their wand to kill you, you stop them, no matter what it takes. Are we clear?"

"You sound like… you're expecting a fight… soon," Stephen Cornfoot pointed out.

As her gaze swept over the group again, she made a decision then and there that she would not tell them of Phil's news of a united coalition that was rumoured to be coming, just in case that plan fell through. There was no need to get morale up, only to have it possibly plunge later. Better to wait until someone from that group contacted them directly, and there were positive plans made.

She could, however, tell them a bit about Ginny's arrival.

"That I'm not sure of. What I do know is that we're expecting reinforcements sometime within the next few days, perhaps even tonight, if luck holds. I'm not sure how many new wands we'll get - could be one, could be a dozen or more - but every hand helps, right?"

There was a murmur around the table, and some of the glum faces disappeared, showing some small measure of excitement.

"No matter what's coming or what else is happening at this moment in the world, let's just be thankful that we're together again," she said, giving each of them a gentle smile. "I've missed you all, and I, for one, am grateful to be home." She raised her mug to them. "To this moment, right here with all of you."

There were some rousing cheers, a wave of mugs lifting in salute, and everyone chugged back their beverage of choice to celebrate the moment.

Hermione joined in, finishing off her tea, and then she cleared her plate after that, filling her belly until she couldn't consume another lick of food. All the while, she was acutely aware of Malfoy's unyielding gaze upon her, feeling no sexual heat from it, but instead a simmering anger that was waiting for the right moment to be set free.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (forty past nine o'clock P.M.)_**

Pansy spent the better part of half an hour pacing Blaise's tent, thinking about what Granger had said.

McLaggen had been under a spell that controlled him, compelled him…

The dark pit in her belly that had opened up the moment Gryffindor's former Princess had announced that little tid-bit yawned wider as the witch's words came back to her, repeating in her head like a broken record:

"_You remember your mother's powers, I assume?"_

Of course she did. How could she ever forget? Her mother had punished her several times over the last two years by siccing various Death Eaters on her, using her Sex-Witch abilities to bring her daughter to heel. She remembered those events even when she didn't _want _to, like in the night terrors that caused her to wake to the sound of her own screaming, or in the occasional hateful dream that woke her up and left her body aching and desperate for hard, wild sex.

There had been no exaggeration when she'd told Blaise that the number of men she'd had inside her was vastly more than a sane girl should know. Although most of them were easily forgotten, there were a few that had been painful lessons for her to bear… among those had been McLaggen.

She shuddered, not wanting to think of him or the way he'd fucked her raw while her mother stood over them, watching and gloating, her revenge against the elder, long-dead McLaggen complete. They'd both been nothing more than tools for Phaedra to use towards that endeavour…

… and Cormac had continued to be so for months and months later, assigned as he'd been to her mum for protection.

God, had it been like that for him every time her mum took him to her bed? Had he been forced by the witch's powers to service her? Or had he gone willingly into Phaedra's arms? She'd always assumed the latter, but what if it had been the former? What if he'd been raped over and over again, the same as Pansy had been?

Shaking all over quite suddenly, she had the odd, spontaneous need to see her boyfriend… to be held by him, and hear him tell her in her ear that everything was going to be all right. It felt foreign to her to have such irrational compulsions, as she'd always prided herself on being rather independent, and yet, there was absolutely no sense of wrongness to the idea that she needed Blaise. She _needed _him.

By Salazar's bollocks, she was going to have him, too! No more of this almost-but-not-quite between them in bed. She wanted him between her thighs, riding her hard and whispering to her about love, purging her of her sexual demons and replacing them with wonderful memories.

Hurrying out into the cold once more, she headed for the War Tent, hoping to catch him there.

It took less than a minute to cross the ground between locations, her stride brisk and relatively smooth as she stepped over ground whose ruts and bumps had been tramped down and evened out over the past two months since their arrival from Kirkwall. The camp was eerily quiet as she passed by tents that had been closed and bespelled against the winter's chill, the owners either bunking down for the night, out on guard duty, or gathered in other tents for companionship. She spied Charlie Weasley slipping into his own temporary domicile, closing the canvas entrance behind him, but other than him, no one else was out and about.

The moment she entered the War Tent, the wards around it locked her limbs down and held her in place with a super-charged Paralyzing Charm, preventing her from budging so much as a bloody inch. The spell also effectively _Silence_'d her to prevent her from speaking the curse that crossed her tongue as her eyes alighted on the prisoner inside... which turned out to be a good thing, because her spell would have caused a concussive explosion within the enclosed space and her man could have been harmed.

"Shite." Blaise stepped in front of her. His big body effectively blocked her view of McLaggen trundled down to a chair in the middle of the room. "What are you doing here?"

Unable to move or speak, she simply stared at him with irritation.

"Oh, yeah." With a wave of his wand, she was freed. As smooth as custard pie, he angled her back outside with a sweep of his arm, cradling her against his side. "I'm on guard duty until dawn. Malfoy's orders."

The frown that turned her mouth down felt heavy. "That bastard's always mucking up my plans. I think he does it on purpose," she growled. She planted her feet, refusing to budge another inch away. "So, he's really here, then."

Against her, Zabini went tense. "'Fraid so. Orders are not to kill him. He's got... some funky spell that he cast that will protect Granger from death. Whoever hits her with an _Avada_, it'll be magically transferred to him instead. It's a one-time get-out-of-death freebie." He pulled her into his arms, and against her ear, she heard his heart beating strong and sure. "If he dies before then, she won't be able to escape a Killing Curse that connects when it really counts. Malfoy won't have that. So... no trying to off him, dove."

Fury burned in her heart. She was to be cheated of her revenge all to keep Gryffindor's Golden Girl alive? What a bunch of bullshite!

"Easy, love," Blaise murmured in her ear. "I said you can't kill him." His voice dropped a notch, sounding considerably more menacing. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "He'll pay for hurting you. Promise."

Pansy's whole body went ice cold and she stiffened in her lover's arms. A sinking feeling lodged itself in her guts, its weight a stone and just as hard. "W-what do you know about it?"

His silence spoke louder than words.

"You performed Legilimency on him." It wasn't a question.

Deep breath. "Yes."

Shame slammed brutally into her spine. "Oh, God. Oh… Jesus."

She struggled to pull away, her instinct to run in retreat and find a quiet, dark place to lick her wounds. Zabini would have none of that, however. He wrapped his powerful arms around her and held her to his solid chest.

"Let go," she hissed. "Just let me go!"

"Never," he vowed, embracing her tight, refusing to be shunned.

As if a switch had flipped in her brain, she suddenly felt numb from toes to nose. Everything went limp with defeat. Her struggles ceased, her knees turned to jelly, her mind blanked. Only her heart still seemed to function under its own life; it beat out a hollow, rapid tattoo under her ribs like some sort of tribal African war drum. The sound carried through her and into him, roaring in her ears.

He knew.

Salazar and Circe, he knew!

How could she bear the humiliation? How would she ever be able to look him in the eye again and not flinch?

"I love you," he whispered against the shell of her ear. "No matter what happened to you in the past, I love you for the woman you are now. That you love me back… that's all that matters to me, dove."

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she pressed her face against his heart, hearing its rhythm match hers.

Oh… that was how.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (ten past ten o'clock P.M.)_**

Ginny had led her group over the flat, marshy ground for half an hour before the ground had dried and become more solid under their sodden feet. They sloughed up a big hill with no small amount of struggling, all of them exhausted after their flight from The Fortress. On the other side, they came into view of a large lake.

"Th' camp's at the far end, on th' edge of the lake, hidden in those trees," Seamus explained, pointing straight ahead. "I'll go on ahead an' let 'em know yer comin' so there won't be any surprises, yeah?"

"Sure," she wheezed, certain she could feel her spleen in her throat now. Godric, everything hurt! Was she really that out of shape?

Her friend floating quickly away, proving her earlier claim that he could walk on water, as she could barely discern his ghostly figure through the darkness floating over the calm, black surface in the vale below.

"Almost there," she told the others. "Down this hill and around that lake, and we're home free. Finnigan went ahead to let them know we were coming. Hot food and warm beds await!" No, she wasn't sure about that last bit, but it never helped to make such claims when your people's spirits were flagging and there was still a bit of a march ahead.

It was when they'd approached the bottom of the hill that they finally encountered the first of Hermione's army – a guard. He Apparated to her spot in a crack of thunder, and held his illuminated wand up between them. She immediately recognized Terry Boot, her former D.A. colleague, despite the fact that he'd aged over the last few years.

"Ginny Weasley? Shite, I never thought- It's really you, isn't it?" he asked, sounding excited. "Finnigan's ghost… scared the living muck outta me… he said you were coming. Man, he's dead, and you're not. Thought it would be just the opposite, honestly."

In the bluish-white light, she nodded. "It's me," she promised, "but go ahead and ask your security questions." That had always been standard protocol, after all, back when Dumbledore's Army had camped out in the Room of Requirement, back during her sixth year of school.

Boot tossed her a smirk, and then got real serious. He asked her his three questions, and she passed with flying colours.

"Damn, it's good to see you again," he offered. "The others will be thrilled to have you." He glanced over her shoulder at the others who had escaped their imprisonment. "Still need to check out the rest of your group." He squinted, his eyes dancing over the faces. "I don't recognize most of them. They'll have to be brought in blind and _Silence_'d, and their wands taken, per the rules. Sorry."

She nodded. This, too, was standard.

After explaining things to the dozen or so who had accompanied her, there was a little disagreement from a couple of them. However, reason and exhaustion prevailed, and she was allowed to confiscate the wands of those Terry didn't know well enough to question. That was the majority of them, unfortunately, so the going was slow over the terrain afterwards. Everyone linked hands and they walked in a straight line again, helping each other along.

When they crossed the wards and the camp suddenly appeared before her, Ginny finally asked the question that had been haunting her for the last couple of hours.

"Did Philip Cadwallader report in?"

Terry tossed her a lopsided grin. "Came in about two hours ago. Went right into debriefing with Malfoy."

She let out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank Godric."

Boot threw her a knowing smirk and nudged her with his elbow, as playful as she remembered him to be when they'd been younger. "Your aura just lit up like a Christmas tree, luv. Have something for the fellow, eh?"

She shoved his shoulder and tried to hide her embarrassment behind a gruff exterior. "Mind your business, Boot. You had your chance, and you shot me down for Edgecombe, remember?"

His grin was glaringly white in the darkness around them. "Yeah, well, Corner had something to do with that. Wanker made it clear he'd cut off my bollocks if I asked you out." He shrugged. "Water under the bridge now, though."

"That's good to hear," a drawling female voice came out of the darkness nearby. As their wands swung around, a beautiful brunette appeared in the sphere of light. Her cheeks were rosy with cold, and she was bundled up in a heavy parka. In the bluish-white glow, she looked quite cross. "Otherwise, _I'd_ cut your bollocks off… and feed them to you."

To Ginny's amazement, Terry sidled up to the lovely brunette. "Jules, baby, you know you're the only one for me."

The witch's glance moved over Ginny. "You'd better hope so." She nodded to the newcomers. "Ginny Weasley, right? I'm Julie Parkes. We've never been introduced, but I know of you. I was in Fred and George's class, two years above. Nice to meet you. I've been instructed by the Captain to bring you to her in the main pavilion. That ghost let us know you were coming. Scared the muck out of me when he floated right into the dining tent like that."

Boot wrapped a possessive, playful arm around Julie's waist and hauled her into his side. "That's exactly what I said! 'Scared the muck outta me'. See? We were meant to be together."

Parkes rolled her eyes. "This way," she nodded off to the right, and without waiting for her beau, strode away. Boot hurried to catch up, flirting outrageously with the woman.

"Almost home," she cheered the group, and then led them on, taking them as safely as possible over the spongy, uneven ground. She was anxious to see Phil again, and Hermione… and to at last begin planning for the final battle to come.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland_**

**_Monday, October 30, 2000 (fifteen past ten o'clock P.M.)_**

Hermione couldn't believe Seamus Finnigan was back from the dead... well, in a matter of speaking. A ghost was as lifeless as it got, sure, but the way her friend was joking and talking now, it was as if he were still a man with breath and a heartbeat. The only thing different about him seemed to be that he was see-through.

Truthfully, her brain was having trouble wrapping around this one.

It was one thing to have met the ghosts at Hogwarts, as she'd never known any of them in real life before they'd snuffed it, but Seamus... they'd grown up together. She remembered his first explosion in Flitwick's class, when he'd incanted incorrectly and blew a feather to smithereens. She knew he'd been the first boy in their grade to have his voice change, as he'd gone through puberty in the middle of their first year in school. She recalled how excited he'd be about every Quidditch match that Gryffindor competed in, going so far as to cover his face and hair with red and gold paint to show his House support. And if she closed her eyes now and thought upon last year, she could still see the shock and brokenness in his face when he'd been told of Lavender's death, and then the very next morning, how his mourning had been replaced with a hard resolve that had gleamed in his eyes thereafter.

She knew Finnigan. Oh, perhaps not as well as she'd known Ron or Harry, but there had been a connection forged between them over the years, first as Gryffindors, and later as soldiers in a war they didn't start and hadn't wanted. To say it was discombobulating to witness him floating not three feet from her, knowing he was dead and yet still able to speak to him as if he weren't, was the understatement of the year.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, needing clarification on a few things he'd told them after he'd popped through the tent with a smile and an Irish greeting, "you became a ghost because you weren't ready to leave the war quite yet. You were roaming the whole of Ireland for these past months trying to decipher what Mort was up to, and when you came upon Neville in Blessington, it was a happy coincidence. That about right?"

Sea tossed her a sly grin. "Yeah, that's about it. Findin' ya again... luck 'o the Irish, darlin'."

She shook her head with some amusement, remembering Cor making reference to his Irish side's luck, too.

"You said the She-Weasel was on her way here. How many are with her?" Malfoy asked, interrupting her thoughts, drawing her back into the here and now. He stepped in front of her in such a way that her access to Seamus was blocked, as if he didn't want her any further involved in the situation.

The sting from that cut went deep, and fired up her anger again. She stepped to the left to countermand his attempt, putting the table between them and giving her a full visual of Sea again. "Anyone you recognise in the group personally?" she asked, intentionally ignoring the flash of irritation across Draco's face as she out-manoeuvered him.

Finnigan nodded. "One o' the Weasley twins was wit' 'em. Out cold, though. An' Angelina Johnson, Michael Corner, an' Adrian Pucey."

"Pucey got out then?" she rhetorically asked, nodding in approval. "That's a big relief. What about Oliver Wood? Did you see him?"

Her ghostly friend shook his head. "Not among 'em. Didn't recognise anyone else."

"Thanks, Sea. You've been a great help. Can you go back to them, and ask them to-"

"Tell the guards to escort our new guests to the War Tent," Malfoy interrupted her, once more taking her out of the chain of command in a single sentence. "No detours. No stopping to talk to anyone. I want the newbies checked out." He threw her a resolute glance. "We're not making the same mistake we did at Kirkwall."

Finnigan glanced between her and his blond commander, his eyebrow raised in a silent question, but he nodded and floated off, heading out the tent exit without another word.

The tension in the pavilion was palpable. The group that had gathered at the table to welcome Hermione back into the fold was pulling a Seamus, too, their gazes twitching between their leaders, unsure of the reason for the sudden split. No one spoke, but it was clear they all wanted to ask what was going on.

Hermione's heart was thudding under her chest so hard she could feel the throbbing down to her toes. Ire hazed her vision, but she kept her chin up and her tone calm. "Thank you all for welcoming me home," she addressed the group, trying to sound as casual as possible. The act was as transparent as Seamus was, but it was an important role to play to keep morale up. "Seems there's still work for me to do before bed. Rest well. I'll see you all in the morning."

Just as they'd been when she'd left the War Tent earlier, her back was straight and her stride sure. Her destination was to meet Ginny at the edge of the camp, wherever that was. Having been magically blinded when she'd come into camp, she had no idea where she was going. She'd find it, regardless. It didn't take a genius to figure out where a perimeter was, after all.

She got as far as the first line of tents before Malfoy's solid grip on her arm prevented her from taking another step in the direction she'd been heading. Instead, he dragged her alongside him as he turned to the left and moved them deeper into the camp.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed at him, trying to yank out of his hold. She planted her heels, refusing to go further, but he was stronger than her, and she was forcibly pulled behind him. "Let go right now!" She tried to keep her voice down, but it was increasingly hard to do so when all she wanted to do was scream her bloody head off at him.

He dragged her after him without reply. She kicked him in the back of the knee, causing him to stumble, but his possession on her arm was firm. He threw her a nasty look over his shoulder and then turned, heaving her up and over his shoulder like a sack of beans. She hung over his back, facing the ground, while he locked a hard arm across her kicking legs, keeping them still. When she squirmed, he spanked her backside with a concrete hand.

"Still!" he commanded, and continued his march to God-knew-where. "You're the world's most infuriating witch, I swear."

"I'm going to kick your arse for this," she seethed. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I'm your boss," he snarked back. "Get used to it."

"Fuck. You."

"I intend to... as soon as there's a free moment."

The shock of his pronouncement caused her entire world to come to a screeching halt.

"You need to rest," he continued, speaking in a softer tone as he moved with his long-legged stride over the campground. "You spent weeks trying to get here, were seriously injured when you did show up, were tied up and had your mind probed after being healed. You just got home, and the dark circles under your eyes say you're on your last leg, and all you want to do is throw yourself back into the fray. Stop trying to be the bloody hero all the time and take care of yourself first for once, Granger!"

Draco ducked into a tent that was a bit away from the others, and gently put her on her feet inside. To her nose, it smelled as all tents do - of the cold, and the musk of the seasons settled into the fibres of the canvas. She instinctively knew, however, that this was _his_ private quarters, even without having to look around.

"Stay here. Get some sleep," he ordered with a growl. "The war will still be around tomorrow." Then, before she could react, he ducked his head and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. The affection was over and done with before she even registered what had happened. "Sleep well," he muttered before spinning on his heel, and striding back out into the night.

The tent flaps were tied back into place behind him, and Hermione felt some sort of magic cast over the whole area a beat later. Instantly, the air inside the portable shelter became warm, fighting off the chill.

It took a moment for it to sink in that he'd actually kissed her on the mouth. She rubbed the spot where he'd touched down, feeling a residual buzz play over the sensitive, chapped skin. Their first actual kiss in months – one that _he'd_ initiated this time – and it had been done not out of any sort of need to impart a romantic passion, but to assuage her anger.

She felt cheated. Hard.

Her anger got her hackles up again.

No way had she'd travelled hundreds of miles and overcome impossible odds merely to have her authority stripped away by the very people she'd fought to come home to. She absolutely _would not_ be mollified with small gestures of sexual interest by the one man intending on turning her into a powerless puppet, either - especially when the sole purpose of his tokens of physical interest were intentionally choreographed to distract her so she wouldn't protest too loudly about his ultimate designs on her.

She withdrew her wand from her inner robe pocket, where it had been returned while she'd sat for hours blinded and silenced in the War Tent as the brain-brigade invaded McLaggen's mind for answers. With it, she knew she could easily leave the confines of the tent. She'd be disobeying a direct order from her leader, sure, but after everything she'd been through and all she'd done, she was starting to think of her rank as equal to Malfoy's, no matter what the chain of command was that they'd established and agreed upon two years ago.

As she stood there debating her next course of action, she suddenly became aware of how very tired she was. Every joint ached, every muscle burned, and her ears were fluttering. In front of her eyes, small splotches of light detonated, and she swayed on her feet.

_Whoa. _

Shite, although it galled her to admit it, Draco was right; she needed to rest before she fell over and became more of a hindrance than a help. How was she supposed to stop him from taking away her authority if she couldn't even stand up straight?

_Damn. Fuck._

The bastard was right.

With that realisation came her body's final, weary acceptance. Almost immediately, she found her lids were too tired to keep open any longer, and her limbs dragged at her sides as if lead weights were tied to them. It took every effort she could muster to unlace her boots, strip off her clothes, drop her wand into the pile, and crawl into Malfoy's bed.

Just before exhaustion swept her up in the darkness of dreams, she snuggled against his pillow, breathing in his scent, and sighed in frustrated. She'd wanted to be exactly where she was for so long, and now that she was, she wanted nothing more than to sleep and not dream of him... or his kiss.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


	32. Ch 30: Change Is In The Air

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Another huge update you will, hopefully, enjoy. Future plot hints abound here, and some characterization work. Hope you enjoy. Review and let me know, yeah?**

**OH, and if you haven't already, sign up for DramioneLove Valentine's Fic & Art Fest (dramionelove . livejournal . com). The minimum word count for fics is 500 words (that is SUPER EASY, basically 5 100-word drabbles!), and the fanart can be hand-drawn, digitally-drawn, or you can even submit a fanmanip (that is, taking an existing image and using Photoshop to make it spiffy in some fashion - banner makers and Tumblr image fanatics can really sink their teeth into this one). You can select one of the prompts provided by other fans, or work off your own prompt (anything having to do with "Valentine's Day" and "Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger" are the only 2 requirements for self-prompting). SIGN-UPS CLOSE SUNDAY, 16 DECEMBER! Hope you'll consider joining us, even if it's your first fest! I'll help you find betas, if you want.**

**Thank you to Ladysashi for beta-ing this chapter!**

**Now, on with the show...**

* * *

_**CHAPTER THIRTY: Change Is In The Air **_

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland _**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (a bit past ten o'clock A.M.)_**

Snuggling up to Philip Cadwallader was the best feeling in the whole world, Ginny decided. He was warm, and solid, and he smelled so good that she wanted to just... fall into him forever.

They'd been reunited last night, after Zabini had cleared her, Adrian, and Damyan Krum with Legilimency. The moment she'd exited the tent where she and the others had been temporarily herded when they'd come into camp, she'd spied Phil. He'd been pacing up a storm outside, clearly waiting on her release. Without thought, acting wholly on the moment, she'd run up to him and leapt into his arms with unrestrained joy. Then she'd proceeded to climb up his lanky form when the hugging wasn't enough, wrapping her coltish legs around his waist and holding tight to him like some kind of clingy monkey. Phil had held her back with equal ferocity, murmuring thanks to Merlin for her safe escape from The Fortress.

It had been a silly, romantic reunion, she could admit... one that had ended in them rushing together through the camp to his tent, and once safely inside his quarters and away from prying eyes, tumbling into his cot. Their love-making had been fast and desperate, punctuated with hard thrusts and hungry kisses and sweet murmurs of pet names, culminating at last in loud cries from both of them. They'd fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards in a tangle of slick, sated limbs.

This morning, after waking and redressing, the two had walked hand-in-hand to the main pavilion for breakfast, ridiculous grins plastered to their faces. As she'd crossed the tent, Ginny had stopped frequently to be reunited with many old friends from Hogwarts, and introduced herself to others that she didn't know. Throughout it all, Phil had lavished attention upon her, frequently kissing her, fetching her coffee, and sharing the food from his plate with her.

Merlin, he really was the perfect guy, wasn't he? And honestly, it was so nice to forget about everything else for a while as she basked in his pampering, too.

Still, she knew that this very short (miniscule, even) reprieve from the war couldn't last. There were things to do, as was obvious from the level of activity around the camp, and they'd already wasted too much time introducing her around and in checking up on the rest of her group from The Fortress after breakfast.

"I really should go check up on Fred and Angie, and find my other brother and 'Mione now," Ginny said, a funny ache taking up residence in her chest at the thought. She worried about Fred's condition. What had gotten into him? And Charlie... she hadn't seen him or her Hermione since the Battle of Hogwarts, two years prior. Yes, Dobby had run messages between the different rebel factions until his death earlier that year, but listening to her father read their letters to the group wasn't the same as actually talking to either of them in person, one-on-one. She longed to see them now with an urgency that seemed impossible to ignore.

"Good idea," Phil murmured against the top of her head, rubbing his cheek against her hair. "The Captain has missed you. She occasionally talked about you, your family, and Potter to the rest of us, telling us some of your adventures back in school and her memories of holidays spent with your family. You were her best girl friend, weren't you?"

Ginny nodded, feeling tears prick her eyes. "She was like a sister to me. I've missed her so much."

"Okay, then. I'll leave you to it." He hesitated though when it came to letting her go, and instead lowered his face towards hers once more. "Just, give me one more minute," he requested, teasing light kisses down her throat until he reached the bend in her neck, right over her pulse. Latching on to the sensitive skin there, he began suckling with wet, erotic pressure. The feeling was sharp and exquisite, and Ginny moaned, swaying into him.

Phil tightened his hold around her, as she huddled against him for warmth. He closed the gap of his bulky parka around them both, giving her his heat to ward off the winter chill while his mouth claimed her throat. Closing her eyes, she pressed her nose into his hairline and inhaled with a contented sigh. He still smelled of the almond soap they'd used this morning when they'd taken a quick shower in the bathing tent together. Combined with his natural, earthy fragrance, his scent was comforting in a way she'd never known before.

Godric help her, but she was falling for Phil faster than she could have anticipated - and she suspected the feelings went both ways.

In truth, it felt a little odd to have found love again, especially so soon after having first met. Also, it was strange to think of another man like this. From the time she'd been ten, she'd been in love with Harry Potter. She'd given the lonely, cursed wizard her heart the moment their eyes had met, and when she was sixteen (almost seventeen), she'd gifted him with her virginity as well. In her youthful naivety she'd been positive they'd been destined to live out a long, happy life together when they'd reached a proper age to marry, replete with at least three children of their own and a slew of grandbabies to coo over.

But then, Harry had died… and she'd been so shattered, she hadn't said a word for three months after. Bill had whisked her and her family across the ocean to America, keeping them safe, but she hadn't a 'thank you' to give him. It had taken the difficult pregnancy and life-altering birth of her baby boy, 'Little H' (as dubbed by Bill and George), for Ginny to regain the will to live…

Phil pressed a final kiss to her neck before lifting his mouth to her ear. "Can I see you again tonight?" he asked, nuzzling her sensitive lobe, while breathing humid, sultry air upon it.

Ginny's fingernails dug into his shoulders as she pressed against him, rearing to go again. Just like that, Phil had her hot and feeling frisky. "Hell, yes," she agreed, nipping at his jaw, sneaking ever closer to his mouth. "And tomorrow, and the day after that..."

The rumble that vibrated through his throat as their mouths met was a sexy sound. "You drive me mad, Freckles," he admitted. "I can't get enough of-"

"Sorry to break up the party," Blaise Zabini interrupted from nearby, his voice filled with amusement, "but there _is_ work to do, you know."

Ginny jerked back from Phil, her embarrassment rising as a wave of heat up her neck. Glimpsing up at her lover, she realized they were a matching pair, with their neon red cheeks and cheeky grins. Phil gave her a wink and a small pat on the bum before stepping away from her and turning to his commanding officer.

"What's the plan?" he asked Zabini.

"You're to go to Snape's tent and pack him up. Get him ready to jump," the former Slytherin instructed. "We're leaving today for a new location, and I need him ready by mid-afternoon, latest."

Ginny perked up upon hearing this. "Is it because of us?" she asked. "Seamus said something last night about breaking protocol when we Portkey'd in."

The tall, dark wizard nodded. "If you'd come from anywhere else, it might not be an issue, but you were too close to The Fortress. We can't assume you weren't followed."

"I'm sorry," she offered, feeling instant remorse. "I thought the far edge of Hogsmeade was good enough."

Zabini looked down at her with those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes she'd always found to be too shrewd and a bit disconcerting, and kindly gave her the pass. "At least you considered it. This one-" He playfully smacked the side of Phil's head with his big hand. "-jumped here directly from the Forbidden Forest. Apparition is more traceable than a Portkey. Should have known better, Cadwallader, considering you're no 'firstie' like Weasley here. So, technically, it's both your faults."

Phil seemed abashed by the reprimand. "Sorry, boss. Right, I'll get to it then." He turned and pressed a quick kiss to Ginny's cheek. "See you tonight, Freckles. Be safe."

He jogged off, and she watched him go, loving the way his arse moved in his Muggle cargo pants.

"What about me, then?" she asked, turning back to Zabini as Phil moved out of sight.

He gave her the once over with a purely objective, assessing eye. "Any good at Legilimency?"

Opting for honesty, Ginny shook her head. "Shit at it. I'm a solid flyer, though. You remember me from Quidditch, I assume, when I knocked you off your broom that one time?"

He smirked, but didn't otherwise acknowledge what they both knew to be the truth.

"When I was in America, my brother, Bill, trained me to fight, too. He taught me war games, strategy – that sort of thing." She twirled her wand through her thin, nimble fingers with practiced ease and boasted, "I cast a strong _Protego_, and the meanest _Reducto_ you'll ever see."

Blaise didn't seem too impressed. "Ever cast an Unforgivable?"

Her grin slipped. Under her ribs, her heart thumped twice as hard and she felt a little sick as she slowly nodded. "I _Avada'd_ Yaxley back at The Fortress. I burned his bones after so no one would know."

"Yaxley? Good. Bastard deserved it. He killed Macmillan with a Slicing Hex that went clean through his heart." He glanced at her through dark lashes. "First time taking a life, then?"

She took a deep breath and let it out fast. "Yeah."

Grudging respect glimmered in Zabini's eyes. "Your brother, Bill, is he a strong fighter?"

"Strongest and cleverest with a wand I've ever seen," she admitted, "even against the Americans, and they're a bully bunch to face off against in a fight. I never saw him disarmed, _Stupefy'd_, or had his shields broken through, even facing five-against-one odds."

Zabini grinned. "I wondered where Weasley –_Charlie_- got it from. That man's an ox. Must run in the family."

Proudly, Ginny nodded. "Sure does. Speaking of my other brother... Can you point me in his direction? I have a message to give him from my mum."

"Sorry, he's on guard duty right now. You'll have to wait until I switch shifts with him in a couple of hours."

"But-" she started to argue.

Zabini put his hand up to stop her. "The highest priorities in this camp are guard duty of prisoners and border watch, followed by kitchen rotation. It's best you learn that now." He dropped his hand as she capitulated with a sigh. "Besides, there's work to do today. You heard what I said to your new boy-toy. We need to get this camp ready to jump before nightfall. I expect you to prepare the people you brought in with you from The Fortress. They won't be cleared in time to roam freely like you, so it'll be up to you to magically silence and blind them. You'll also be holding a Portkey for your group, and making sure they've all arrived safely to our new camp site."

Curiosity peaked, she asked, "Where are we going?"

Zabini shook his head. "You'll find out when you're given your Portkey."

She nodded in understanding, seeing the logic behind that decision. If the camp were attacked before then, and she taken prisoner, she couldn't give up their new location to the enemy. Waiting until the last minute to divulge that information was a good strategy, even if it did suck for her to know she wasn't very high up on the chain of command here.

"Can you at least send Charlie to me when he's off duty?" she pleaded. "Please, Zabini. I'd really like to see my brother. It's been two years."

He gave her a very calculated, serpent-like assessment through half-shuttered lids. "I suppose I could arrange that... _if_ you tell me how you had planned to get a message to your rebel cell in America once you retrieved Potter's Invisibility Cloak from the castle." He smirked at the surprise she knew was reflected in her face. "Your boyfriend told us about your mission."

Oh, how she hated Slytherin's cunning, and it seemed Zabini was a master of the skill.

"I'll wring Phil's neck. I wanted to be the one to tell that story!" she huffed. With a wave over her left hip, she indicated the area of her tattoo. "My coin, the one Hermione charmed years ago when we'd been in Dumbledore's Army together so we could message each other when we wanted to meet under Umbridge's nose. It's got a forever Protean Charm on it, and I buried mine under my skin, beneath a special tattoo. It was the only way to hide it, since I'd planned to be captured by the Death Eaters, and knew they'd take everything else away from me."

Now Zabini seemed impressed. "Under your skin, hidden by a tattoo?" He leaned forward, staring at the spot, as if he could see through her clothing. "That was very clever of you, She-Weasel."

She growled, hating that old nickname. "Yeah, well, Gryffindors aren't idiots, Zabini."

"Obviously. Just look at Granger," he replied. "In any case, can you get the coin out without bleeding all over the place? Last thing we need is more wounded, and I'd really like to get a message to your brother."

She tossed him a wicked smirk. "It'll have to wait until I get a free moment. It seems I'm to be swamped with work this afternoon... unless you can spare someone to help, that is. Someone with red hair and blue eyes, perhaps, who happens to share an identical set of parents with me."

"You mean someone whose last name also rhymes with 'measley'?" Zabini teased. "I guess I could do that... once he's off guard duty." He glanced sideways at her. "Just make sure I get that coin by tonight, before you hook back up with Phil. I'd rather not interrupt another moment like today - but I'll do it if I have to."

Giving a mock salute, she headed off towards the tent where her group from The Fortress was being kept, getting lost only once before backtracking and finding the right location.

It seemed her talk with 'Mione was going to have to wait. At least she'd get a chance to see Fred and Charlie, though!

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland _**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (minutes later, just outside of Snape's tent)_**

Phil stopped on his way to Snape's tent, and spun around when he heard his name called by a familiar voice.

"Adrian?"

Limping across the well-trodden path towards him, Pucey looked even worse than the last time Phil had seen him – a bit emaciated, bruised, tired. His shaggy hair fell into eyes rimmed by dark circles, but for all that, the man was smiling like he'd single-handedly won the Quidditch World Cup. Careful not to press too hard to his left side, which Adrian was favouring, Phil gave his friend a hearty clap on the back.

"Mate, you made it out," Phil said with great relief, feeling tears prick his eyes. He'd honestly thought he'd never see his teammate again. Thank the Founders Ginny had managed to find him before he'd been too broken.

"You dog, where the fuck were you?" Adrian joked, his voice weak, but filled with cheer. "I waited, like you wanted, but had to get rescued by your pushy girlfriend in the end."

Phil laughed, feeling the cold knot of shame in his chest loosen a bit. "Quit your whining, milk-toast," he tossed back, choked up at the reunion. The moment turned serious a beat later, and he squeezed just a little harder into the hug. "I'm sorry, man."

Adrian leaned back and smacked Phil upside the head. "Sorry is for nancys. You can make it up to me by giving me all your Opal Fruits," he said around a grin.

To his mortification, unexpected tears fell down Phil's cheeks. Hastily, he scrubbed them away, and said around a laugh, "I don't have any left. Fay cleaned me out months ago."

Had it really been that long since the last time he'd sat around a table with his friends –his make-shift family- and enjoyed an evening of gambling for lousy pieces of candy? Being at The Fortress for those eight weeks had seemed an eternity to Phil.

Adrian's dark eyes shimmered with tears, too. "It's okay," the guy replied, sniffling. "We can always steal more."

"Deal," Phil offered, extending his knuckles for a tap. "Just as soon as you're one-hundred percent."

The backs of their hands lightly rapped together. "You got it." He looked over his shoulder, and for the first time, Phil noted the Romanian girl that Adrian had taken up with just before he'd left on his mission. What was her name again?

"Toia's waiting. I promised her I'd let her nurse me back to health," Adrian said, making his excuses to cut things short. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and smirked. "Gotta go, mate. Catch you later."

"Lates," Phil called back to him as Adrian turned and hobbled back across the wide gap between tents to where his girlfriend was waiting for him. The pretty blonde slung an arm around Pucey's waist, supporting him as they continued on their way towards a tent on the far end.

It was good to see Adrian home. Hell, it was good that both of them had made it this far, given the odds against such a miracle.

Swiping at his cheeks one more time, Phil continued on his way to Snape's tent, letting the crisp, wintery air cool his emotions. By the time he arrived and announced himself to his former professor, he felt solid again.

Behind the canvas tent, wracking coughs answered his request to enter. Worried for his mentor, having learned of Snape's condition last night, he pulled back the tent flaps and walked in without permission. The first thing he saw was Severus' dark head slumped over the edge of his cot, his face pasty white and covered with the sweaty sheen of sickness. The only colour to him was the dark, cherry blood staining his lips and dripping from his nose onto the canvas floor.

Running to his former professor's side, Phil called to Snape, asking him what he needed and helping him to take up a comfortable position back in his bed. After _Scourgifying_ his mentor with a wave of his wand, he reached for an empty glass nearby and filled it with an _Aguamenti_. He helped his mentor to sip from it, supporting his neck as he drank.

"The medicine isn't working is it?" he asked, fear taking up residence in his heart. Phil knew very little about medicine, his expertise lying in the range of poisoning, not in healing, but he knew enough to understand that consumption was nicknamed 'the wasting disease' for a reason. Snape was so light under his hands, and his face was gaunt.

Severus coughed and weakly shook his head. "It appears not."

Resolved to do something to help, Phil gentle set Snape's head back down, turning the man so he wouldn't be lying on his back. "I'm going to get help. Will you be all right for a few minutes alone?"

Weakly, Snape nodded, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted.

Phil made to draw the blankets up over the man's shoulders, but was taken aback with how wet they felt under his fingertips. With another _Scourgify_ over the material, he cleaned it of the perspiration that had dampened it, and recast a Heating Charm over the entire tent, assuring the temperature was dry and hot.

"Be right back," he promised his mentor, and hurried out, heading for the Medical Tent.

Panic began to grip his chest as he considered Snape's plight, and his feet flew over the ground as he ran. His mentor was too weak for an Apparition or Portkey jump on his own. He could maybe be taken by Side-Along, but even that seemed risky, given how very ill Severus appeared.

As he pondered that predicament, he came upon the Medical Tent out of breath and flushed.

God, he hoped someone had solution to getting Snape back on his feet and soon… and to keeping the rest of them from catching the same disease.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland _**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (sometime around the eleven o'clock A.M. hour)_**

Hermione's ears were fluttering when she pulled her woolly head off the pillow and exhaustively dragged herself to her feet. The coarse weave of the canvas floor under her bare toes was cold, but at least the air in the tent was warm.

It took her another ten seconds to actually open her eyes and look around, and at least a full minute after that for her brain and her body to make the connection between thought and action.

With a sigh, she bent to retrieve her clothing from the floor, where she'd dropped it in her lethargy last night, and set to redressing. Her bra was a bit of a struggle as it was a Muggle brand that hooked in the back, and she was decidedly uncoordinated just then, and she almost tripped and fell when she tugged her frayed jeans up and over her knees and hips. Thankfully, her jumper was easy to pull over, although she did accidentally get her head stuck for a moment before popping through the large hole at the top. Putting on her socks and tying her shoes required her to sit back down on the cot she'd recently vacated...

...and the moment her backside hit the soft, thin mattress, the still-warm pillow called to her to lay her sleepy head back down for just another minute.

The temptation to give in was so great that she was already stretching out to do just that when the tent flaps were thrown wide open and a blast of cold from the crisp, Irish air outside invaded her comfortable sanctuary. The winter's chill whipped around spine and sunk deep into her bones, jolting her into full, sharp consciousness against her will.

"Good, you're awake," Draco greeted her.

The disappointing events of yesterday's homecoming pummelled Hermione's skull, tumbling her straight into a dark mood. She snapped, "Afraid I'd gotten off my leash in the middle of the night?"

Her companion was quiet in the wake of her biting criticism, but she could feel his angry censure writhing between them, taking up space and air. Still, Draco kept his mouth shut, smartly avoiding the argument she was intentionally provoking.

Irritated with his unwillingness to cooperate with her bad mood, Hermione sighed in defeat and bent forward to retrieve her wand from the floor. Once it was in hand, slowly, she climbed to her feet. "Did Ginny make it into camp last night?" she asked instead, changing the subject to more important matters than her personal displeasure.

Draco's platinum-blond head bobbed once. "Came in late with about a dozen wands trailing behind her."

"You realize it will take days to sift through all of their minds to assure they're safe," she commented, not meet his eye. Instead, she rummaged through her Bag of Holding, looking for a clean set of clothes. She really wanted a bath and to get out of her dirties.

"Can't spare the time to do that," he replied in a business-like tone. "We're moving the camp today. Blessington's overrun with Mort's spies, and they know we're here now. Weasley's group will have to remain under surveillance until we're at our new home and at a point where we can stop and take a look inside their heads."

Pausing, she finally looked up at him. Gads, why did he always appear so tall up close? "What about Willem, Jeremy, and Su?"

He met her gaze evenly. "They're on their own."

"But we can't just leave them to-" she began to argue.

"Yes, we can," Draco cut her off. "We have to. The safety of the group takes precedence. You know that."

Heart aching at the thought of losing three important members of the family –she'd played more than a few rounds of poker against Stretton over the last year, when there had been time, and had lost all of her Opal Fruits to him upon each occasion; she'd prayed with Bradley over the graves of their friends whenever one or more was taken from them, and his faith had brought her comfort during those despairing times; and she'd never expected such bravery from a Vampire, given what she knew of them, but Su's willingness to risk life and limb to pass on Death Eater secret information to Pansy to help the rebellion had proven to Hermione that they weren't all the monsters everyone thought them to be- she nodded in agreement.

"Where's the jump to?"

"Rathlin Island, between the Irish and Scottish coasts. There's a network of caves there that run right under the island–"

Hermione nodded. "One of which was rumoured to have been used by Robert the Bruce in the fourteenth century to escape after his sixth defeat by the English. I've been to the island with my parents, when I was a child. I recall there being a small town on the coast. At the time, it had a pub, a chips shop, and a general store. If they're still there and not already cleaned out, we might be able to salvage supplies. There were also tourist cottages being built at the end of the main road the time I was visiting. They were grouped together just outside the town, and looked rather fancy. That might be a good place to bunk down."

Draco agreed. "It would be nice to crash in a bed again." He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes, and she just then noticed how exhausted he looked.

"Where did you sleep last night?" she asked, ignoring the fluttering in her belly. Had he come back to his tent and lain on the floor while she was oblivious?

"Theo's bunk."

"Oh." She tried not to let her relief show. How embarrassing would it have been if she'd snored in her sleep and he'd heard it? "For how long?"

He shrugged. "A few hours."

Hermione gave him an arch look. "Malfoy, you look half-dead on your feet. Sleep today. We'll move the camp tomorrow."

Scowling, he stared hard at her. "We can't afford the delay. What if news from Blessington reaches Mort?" He stepped close enough to her that she worried he could smell her breath and body. She hadn't properly rinsed her mouth or bathed since that farmhouse she and Cor had discovered on the way to Blessington, and was embarrassed by that fact. He seemed to take no notice of her personal odours, however, as he leaned into her. "We were all a little too reckless yesterday."

She held her breath, seeking and hoping for a deeper meaning in his words, but his silky, grey eyes gave nothing away.

Stepping back, overly sensitive to his nearness and her grimy skin and teeth, she stiffened her shoulders. "So, you sleep and I'll handle the jump plans. By this afternoon, we'll be ready to go and you'll be well-rested." When he looked to argue, she held a hand up between them. "You're going to have to get used to having me back and acting as your Second. It's what everyone will expect, and it's a role I intend to take back, like it or not, Malfoy. I _need _to."

His fists clenched at his side, and he seemed to internally struggle over her pronouncement. She waited him out, refusing to back down.

"Fine," he said, yielding to the idea, although it was clear he didn't like it one bit. "Just... stay away from McLaggen_._ Let Zabini move him later, once Blaise has woken up." At her questioning look, he explained. "He and Nott were on guard duty all night. Weasley's watching over him now."

The logistics of that plan were poor, as the three men were among the best fighters and labouring them with the task of being prison guard wasn't the best use of their abilities. She could understand the precautions, but still... "Why do you insist on keeping him-"

"Don't argue with me where he's concerned," he warned. "You're lucky I haven't decided to disembowel him after everything he's done. And I don't give a fuck about that conversion shite affecting him either, so you can save the speech defending his honour." He backed off a bit, his tone more reasonable, but still tinged with anger. "He hurt you, and he'll never be anything but the enemy, as far as I'm concerned. If we can use him, we will. I see the logic in that." His eyes were hard when he met her gaze. "But that doesn't mean I want you anywhere near him."

She met his stubbornness with a blend of her own. "And I say again, I won't let him be abused. He saved my life."

"He raped you!" Draco growled, a strange, black aura beginning to shimmer to life around him. "He... he _ruined_ you!"

His words were a slap to her face. Stunned by how much his claim hurt, she stepped back, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks. "Is that what you really think?" she whispered in a strangled voice. Under her ribs, her heart squeezed with pain. "That I'm ruined."

His anger evaporated, as did the weird shadow around his form, and for a brief moment, regret etched across his handsome features. "I didn't mean-" He paused, swallowed, tried again. "Of course not. I meant... he'd taken from you... taken your..."

"Innocence," she finished for him, when it was clear he couldn't get the words past his teeth.

His eyes dropped to the floor between them, and his face became as hard as marble. "Yes."

The affront from that comment had Hermione's shoulders and chin lifting. She willed the tears in her eyes not to spill onto her cheeks. "I hate the Death Eater that Cormac had been for doing that to me... but he isn't that person anymore. I can't hold him to things done while under the influence of dark magic. It isn't right, just like it wouldn't be right to condemn a person under the Imperius Curse." Her voice faltered a bit as she said, "And... I have to learn to forgive him, Draco, for my own peace of mind, if nothing else. All this hate I keep inside-" She gripped the area over her heart. "-it's hurting me. It's making me forget that this war isn't about vengeance, but about justice. It's not about inflicting harm to get even, but about protecting the innocent and weak from those who would abuse and annihilate them. I have to keep that straight if I'm going to make the right choices."

He said nothing, but his expression was dark with thought.

"More than that, he kept me safe and made sure I got home to you."

Draco's head jerked up and their eyes connected... and Hermione was flooded with the need for him again. It swelled up within her body, overfilled her heart, and left her trembling.

"I owe him for that," she continued around a shaky breath. "For bringing me back to you."

"He wants you," Draco murmured with a hint of anger. "His wolf wants you."

A quiver ran down Hermione's spine. "I know."

Draco's breathing grew harder. "My wolf wants you, too," he admitted.

She peeked at him through her lowered lashes. "Just your wolf?"

The air between them grew tense, thick with possibilities.

"When we're free and clear from these mountains, Granger..."

"What happens?" she prodded in a whisper when he stalled again.

He moved then, and she quickly shut her eyes, afraid of the charged intensity between them. He came upon her like a wall of heat, crowding in close, making her pulse leap like a startled bird. Instead of dragging her down onto the nearby cot and stripping her of her clothing, as she'd expected his fingertips gently caressed her cheek in a barely-there touch.

A whimper of need escaped her mouth.

Emboldened by her reaction, he pushed them closer to the point of no return by allowing his thumb to smooth over her chapped lower lip in a caress meant to tempt them to part.

"Everything happens then, Hermione."

_Please, y__es,_ she thought, clutching to his promise with all her hopes. Finally! She'd wanted him so much, for so long.

With more daring than she thought possible, she opened her mouth and very lightly bit his thumb, wrapping her lips around the tip in a wet, warm suck. Her tongue rubbed against the bit of skin, swishing back and forth with slow intent. _This is what I want to do to every inch of you_, she thought, as she reached up to grip his wrist and hold his hand captive.

Draco's broad frame shook as he sucked back a powerful draw of air into his lungs and hissed a profanity under his breath. "Granger... Not yet." He stepped into her curves until their bodies were pressed together, and bent to kiss her forehead in an apologetic rejection, even as he pulled his hand from her hold. "Not today," he whispered, trailing his lips over her cheek. Pressing against her belly, she felt the evidence of his hard need for her. "I want it too, but we can't go there right now."

"When?" she boldly asked, shivering against him, desire coursing through her veins.

With clear reluctance, he stepped back, his hands fisted at his sides, as if he didn't trust himself not to reach for her again. He took a deep breath and let it out nice and slow. "As soon as we're away from here. I want you safe... and in a soft bed, with no interruptions."

He looked away then, lost to internal thoughts, speaking softly, as if he were reminding himself of something important.

"I want it to be perfect for you."

A firm resolve hardened the set of his features quite suddenly, and he met her eye with a steadfast determination.

"For that, I can wait."

Pivoting on his heel, he was walking away from her then with a brisk stride, heading towards the tent exit. Body tight, moist, and aching for completion, Hermione could only watch him go, dazed and confused by his sudden withdrawal.

He stopped as he pulled the canvas flaps back, letting the cold air back inside. "I'll rest in Theo's tent for a few hours. You're in charge until I wake up," he informed her, his tone business-like again. "Cornfoot has been to the island as well, so the two of you can make the Portkeys for the jump. Zabini and Nott will be on guard duty, rotating out with Weasley, so I suggest you get Parkinson, MacDougal, Boot, Dunbar, and Bell to split the duties of managing the packing up in their areas of the camp. They're reliable and know what to do. Cadwallader should work strictly with Snape. You can conscript the She-Weasel, too, if she hasn't already been assigned a station, since she was cleared first last night after arriving and seems to have a brain in that head of hers." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Longbottom's going to have to be moved very carefully. He's… in a bad way, and might not make it. Have Clearwater work with Daphne to prepare him for transport, though."

His instructions fully conveyed, he strode out without a backward glance, leaving Hermione both bemused and exceedingly aroused... and completely unable to reconcile the two emotions. Reaching for the pillow on the nearby cot, she simplified the issue by smooshing her face into the soft padding and using it to smother her frustrated scream.

After a good, long shout and some stamping of her feet, she felt remarkably relieved. Once more in control of her emotions, she resolved to waste no more time, for the day was already half-over. Dropping the pillow back onto the cot, she headed out of the tent for the dining hall to grab a quick bite and some strong coffee. At least the hot beverage would hide her morning breath. Her desperately-needed bath, however, would have to wait until later, she sadly resigned.

With a hastily cast _Scourgify, _she was at least able to cover up the stink of the road she'd walked, and rid her clothing of its dried blood stains. Another spell untangled her curly hair and set it back into a ponytail so it would be out of the way. She didn't break stride as the charms worked their magic upon her, her feet moving with haste towards the scent of food. Her stomach rumbled something fierce, urging her on.

There was work to do today – a lot of work.

Was it strange, she wondered, for it to feel normal getting back into the rhythm of the war?

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland _**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (same time)_**

"You're awake," Penny whispered in trembling relief, carefully blotting some sweat from Neville's brow with a dry cloth that Morag had supplied earlier, when she'd come in to check on her patient, The woman had run to Snape's tent with Cadwallader soon after for some sort of emergency.

Neville had been knocked-out all night, thanks to the pain potions and spells, and he was looking stronger this morning from the long, healing sleep. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and the swelling and bruising were already going down.

Thank the Founders for magic, Penny thought, sure her fiancé would had died last night if they'd had to rely on Muggle medicinal techniques alone.

"Water," Neville croaked, his voice a harsh, barely-there rasp of sound.

Reaching for a glass, Penny filled it with a quick _Aguamenti_, transfiguring a teaspoon into a straw with a concentrated effort. She was so tired, having hardly slept a wink as she'd kept vigil over Neville's unconscious form, and her focus was off as a result.

Angling the straw just right, she managed to get it between Neville's dry lips. The sounds of his weak slurping were loud in the quiet tent, but Penny was just glad he was able to do this much.

When he'd finished the glass, and declined a refill, she'd put it aside to reach out for his hand. Both of them, it seemed, needed the physical reconnection, as they'd seemed to relax a bit the moment their fingers brushed.

"How do you feel?" she asked, her tone hushed just in case he might be suffering a headache.

Neville's lips quirked in a smile. "Better than yesterday," he rasped.

Once more, Penny was reminded of just how close she'd come to losing the only really good thing in her life. Her emotions already all over the place because of her pregnancy, she found it hard to fight off another round of tears as they flooded her eyes. "That's… good," she choked, trying to maintain her usual stoicism and failing miserably. "Keep doing that."

Feebly, Neville squeezed her fingers. "Love you, my Penny."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked, as her fears again rose to the surface. Every time he spoke to her like that, she was afraid it would be the last time. The thought of losing him terrified her.

"Then stay with me."

With a tired sigh, he promised, "I will."

"You'd better," she groused around pathetic sniffling. "Our baby will need his daddy."

His lids, nearly closed from exhaustion, suddenly flared wide, and the light of interest glowed in the depths of his hazel eyes. "He okay?" he asked in a dry whisper.

Wiping at her cheeks, she nodded. "Had me throwing up this morning already." She sniffed with amusement. "Nothing in my belly, but that didn't stop him from letting me know he's in there. He's a strong one."

Truthfully, Penny didn't know if her baby would be a boy or a girl, as it was just too early to tell, but she felt hope that it would be a boy, and that he would come into the world naturally and healthy. It was an impractical dream, she knew, but at the moment, all she had to run on was the promise that she, Neville, and their baby would be a family together in the not-so-distant future, living in his gran's cottage, surrounded by roses and love. To think otherwise would bring her the kind of bleak despair she'd only ever felt once in her life, and never wanted to experience again.

"He's strong," she reiterated, needing to believe their baby would survive and grow in her scarred womb.

"Like you," Neville said. His fingers rubbed against hers.

She met her fiancé's eyes and firmly said, "Like his father."

He stared at her a moment more, mulling something over. Then, with a sigh, he gave in. "Okay," he agreed.

With that, he passed out, but this time Penny wasn't quite as scared by his loss of consciousness. She knew he was merely sleeping again, letting his body heal, and that when he was well, he would come back to her. He would not drift off into the darkness and be lost to her or their child.

He'd just promised, after all, and if there was one thing in this world Penny could believe in, it was Neville's love for her.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Wicklow Mountains, Ireland _**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (forty minutes later)_**

One more hour and Charlie could switch with either Zabini or Nott, whichever arrived at the War Tent first. Thank Circe's tits, because he really had to go for a slash soon. He'd been holding it most of the morning, and was starting to float.

Standing guard duty sucked. He'd never cared for the task, more a man of action than stillness. Besides, their illustrious prisoner seemed quite defeated, and despite having a major hate-on for the guy, it was still disconcerting to Charlie to see someone once feared as the most powerful of Mort's lapdogs reduced to... well... slumped shoulders and a dull aura.

Or maybe that was the Tracker's game? Disarming the guards with a false air of hopelessness might buy him a chance to escape, true, and McLaggen had been rumoured to be extremely clever... and deadly.

Whatever, Charlie wasn't taking his eyes off the bastard. He didn't trust him, regardless of what Hermione said, and he would hold his bladder forever if needs be to assure their captive didn't make a break for it on his watch.

So concentrated on his duty, Charlie didn't hear or feel a visitor's approach until McLaggen suddenly perked up, his aura flaring with awareness. As if sensing the unknown witch or wizard across the distance, the prisoner's head jerked up, his attention intently focussed on the tent exit in time for the flaps to be thrown back and for Hermione to step through.

Thank Godric Zabini had nullified that wicked petrify ward that had been cast around the tent last night. Hermione was already in a bad mood, Charlie could tell, and she would have been caught in the spell, as he had been this morning upon the shift change. That would have only made her growly. If there was one thing Charlie didn't ever want to have to face, it was Hermione Granger's wrath. He'd watched poor Ron on the receiving end of her harpy-like reprimands more than once back at the Burrow, and that was when she'd been just a young teenager! And last night, that uncomfortable stand-off between her and Malfoy... The years had only sharpened the witch's tongue. Thank Merlin she'd shown a little restraint and hadn't let the hexes fly, as he'd been expecting. Like Ginny, Hermione could invent some pretty nasty spells...

Thinking of his sister, he'd been told that she'd come into camp last night with a group of would-be new recruits. She was alive, and well! He hadn't seen his family in two years, and the last communiqué he'd had with them had been shut off earlier this year, around the same time as Hermione's house-elf had stopped popping over to Romania with updates.

"Morning, Charlie," she greeted him, raising a steaming mug of something warm in his direction. She cradled the thing like it was her lifeline. "Thank you again for yesterday's rescue."

"Hello, darling," he replied, giving her a jaunty salute. "It's almost afternoon, you know." He took her in from head to toe. "You look much improved."

She nodded. "It's amazing what rest and a little food will do for a person. Speaking of which-" She glanced at McLaggen. "-has he been fed, given liquids, and allowed to get up and walk to the loo yet?"

Charlie nodded. "All of the above. Knew you'd come here eventually, and didn't want my ears blasted away – especially after the way you reacted last night. I made sure our Golden Boy here has been taken care of."

She tweaked a suspicious eyebrow at him, and glanced over at the Tracker. Her face flashed with ire. "This is ridiculous. We shouldn't be restraining him, since everyone cleared him last night. Ginny's up and walking around now, I'm told."

"My baby sister also isn't a mass murderer," Charlie rightfully pointed out.

With a deeply indrawn breath and a long sigh, as she let all that frustration out on a whoosh of air, and crossed the tent to stand before McLaggen. Charlie jumped to his feet. "Hermione, don't do anything mad," he warned. "Malfoy's orders for him were clear where this one is concerned, and I happen to agree."

Her shoulders stiffened. "I was only going to offer him some coffee," she defended. "I'm well-aware of Malfoy's orders." Her tone indicated that she resentfully understood the chain of command and would abide by it for now, but that she had every intention of sparring with their leader over this issue later. "Cor, can you hear me?"

Slowly, the blond nodded. His face, with its all-white, blinded gaze, was turned up towards Granger like she was the Madonna, and he her faithful devotee. Charlie felt both disgust and pity well-up inside him. Clearly, Zabini hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said McLaggen was in love with Hermione. Hell, the man's aura was lit up like a Yule Tree, painted in colours of lust and warm affection. It was also tainted by fear and self-loathing. It made for a really interesting aurora: like he had a case of exploding splattergoit dancing around his curly head.

"Would you like some coffee? It's black."

The Tracker nodded once.

Hermione moved her cup to the other man's lips. "Open up and tilt back a bit. I'll try to pour slowly."

Ever-vigilant, Charlie was careful to monitor McLaggen's aura at the same time as any physical cues that may signify an intended deception. What he was surprised to see was nothing of the sort from the prisoner, who graciously accepted Hermione's gift with a smile after swallowing the last mouthful of coffee.

"I'll be back to check on you periodically," she promised the man. "And... I'm sorry."

McLaggen's expression let her knew he held her blameless for his current predicament, as did the tiny shake of his head.

Hermione sighed. "Do you need or want anything else? It may be a few hours before I can get back here."

Again, the Tracker answered in the negative.

"Right, then... I'll be going. See you for a late lunch."

Charlie wanted to tell her she should ask Malfoy's permission first, as Zabini and Nott had made it clear to him this morning on the shift change that Malfoy dictated that _no one_ was to visit with the prisoner. His words died on his lips, though, as he watched her aura flicker with regret and a sense of failure, and as she turned away from McLaggen with an etched frown.

"Have you eaten?" she asked him next. "I can put together a plate for you and bring it back."

Wry smile climbing his cheek, Charlie shook his head. Leave it to Hermione to make sure everyone was taken care of, no matter her own discomfort. "Thanks, but I'll wait. My shifts up soon, and Zabini or Nott will come relieve me. I'll catch lunch then."

She nodded. "Okay. I'm going to go, then. There's a lot to do today."

Charlie gave her another half-salute. "Zabini told me. I'll be helping Fay."

She acknowledged him, and headed out, letting in a cold draft that worked its way into his bones. He stood and took a deep breath, liking the cleansing, mountain air and the way it seemed to sanitize the tent's stale, musky odour. Unfortunately, it couldn't erase the stink of unwashed human.

He cast a _Scourgify_ upon McLaggen, who simply nodded his thanks, before dropping his head and letting it loll on his neck. Within minutes, the prisoner was napping again, catching sleep as he was able. Using it to heal, Charlie knew from the low simmering of his aura. Like a wounded animal, the guy was holed up in his own mental cave nursing his strength, reserving what little energy there was to have for some future use... waiting, most likely, for a chance to escape.

Yes, Malfoy was right: Cormac McLaggen was a man to carefully watch. Charlie wouldn't underestimate the former Tracker. No one who'd been in that deep with the enemy could be trusted.

**X~~~~~X**

**_The Fortress (formerly Hogwarts Castle), Scotland_**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (noon-ish)_**

Jeremy came to consciousness at the sound of Will's voice whispering his name. Prying his eyelids apart was work, but he accomplished the exhausting feat…

…only to realize that he was magically bound and gagged with wards so strong he couldn't break through. In his head, his _Vampirius_ was out cold. The great strength his monstrous side might have provided to earn him his freedom was denied him.

"_Will?__ Su?" _

He tried communicating telepathically with his soul mates, but the distance between them must have been too great to overcome. Either that or the wards around him were that strong.

Probably both.

"Awake at last. I was sure if that oaf of a werewolf of mine had done you permanent damage, but it seems you weren't as badly wounded as I'd first assumed. Most of his victims aren't so lucky."

Jeremy was able to turn his head just enough to spy Megan Jones sitting in a comfortable cosy chair nearby, her long, slim legs crossed in the adopted pose of majesty. Standing guard over her shoulder was Oliver Wood and Astoria Greengrass. Both had an odd glassy-stare to them that was indicative of mind magic's hold upon their will.

Megan's smile was a serpent's.

"I have to say, I'm quite surprised at how easy you were to capture, Vampire," she stated, roll-tapping her long nails on the cushioned arms of her chair. "I'd expected a harder fight. Then again, you're only a half-breed, aren't you? Not at all like Sanguini and his clan. They were decidedly more difficult to apprehend. We lost half the wolves Fenrir turned at the start of this war just to bring them down." She barked a sinister laugh. "It was worth it, though."

He would have snarled at her, demanded to know where he was and what she wanted, but instead, all Jeremy could do was glare impotently at her.

"I bet you're wondering what I have planned for you," she continued to taunt, her smile widening to show her straight, white teeth. "Shall I give away the details of the plan for you, or let you sweat over it?" She seemed to consider her options, giving her expression a dramatic flair, as if enjoying the play she was enacting. She roll-tapped her nails again and clucked her tongue. "I think I'll tell you, because sexual pleasure is so much more exciting when it's anticipated."

She turned her head just a fraction of an inch, and Wood moved, offering her his hand to aid her in standing. She took it, and in a graceful move, was on her feet. Shrugging off her boy-toy's hand, she moved with a sinuous grace over to Jeremy, her hips swaying in such a way to ensure lust in any other man. But Jeremy was not just a man. And he was mated already. Her seductive movement and posing did nothing to stir his arousal.

With a flat gaze, he met her amusement, unflinching.

"So brave," she jeered. "I wonder if you'll still have that courage in a minute once you realize who you're up against."

She touched his cheek with a brush of fingertips. That was all.

Jeremy's body roared to life, sexually stimulated until he thought his heart would pound out of his chest. His cock was as hard as steel in his jeans, throbbing with want. Eyes flaring wide, he understood then what Megan had been hinting at. She was a Sex-Witch of enormous power.

Her hand pulled back and her palm connected with his jaw with force as she slapped him with a malicious glee. "Not just any Sex-Witch, you fool," she sneered, as if she'd pulled his thoughts directly from his brain. "I am the first. And I plan to bend you to my will."

Flesh stinging from her blow, Jeremy stared down at her with confusion and a sense of growing horror as her delicate hand stroked over his throat. Again, he felt the fierce, undeniable pull of desire. Closing his eyes, he thought of Will and Su, clinging to the memories of their mating to ground him. His attempts failed, however, as she poured her power into him with minimal effort.

Body jerking as the wild, primitive rush of sexual release slammed through him, Jeremy threw his head back in a silent scream and orgasmed. His hot seed poured out of him in wracking spurts, the pleasure overwhelming… and ultimately hollow. Without any sort of deeper connection to his partner, he felt as empty inside and as sickened in the aftermath as he had the night he'd taken blood from that Muggle girl in Blessington. Bonding with Will and Su had forever changed his understanding of true satisfaction as derived from the sex act, and now nothing else would ever come close to what he'd found in mating his lovers.

As he panted for the breath that had been stolen from him, trying to stave off the chemical fuzzing of his brain post-climax, Jeremy couldn't help but wonder how so small a person –someone he'd gone to school with, for fuck's sake!- could carry the weight of such a power within her. How could someone not have known?

Her laughter was mocking, and this time, he knew she'd read his thoughts.

"Because I am not that same girl, Jeremy." She stroked over his sensitive, still quivering thighs. "You see, too reckless in her ambition to gain her Dark Lord's attention, the brash, little Megan Jones volunteered to be the first to break into an ancient barrow in Ireland that her Master had learned about in the Hogwarts Headmaster's library. In doing so, she'd unwisely awakened something she shouldn't have, and well… it devoured her soul and took her body for its own."

She gave a sinister chuckle while attempting to appear the wide-eyed innocent, tapping one painted fingernail over her lips in contemplation. "If only her boss had thought to warn her in advance. I don't suppose he'd cared enough about her to bother, though." She shrugged. "Ah, well. I believe the saying, 'a means to an end', is rather appropriate when it comes to all his minions though, yes? Too bad, so sad for her - but big time score for me!"

She gave a tinkling, girlish laugh.

"You know, it's almost comical how Old Snake Face has been searching through those tomes for powerful artefacts, because it seems that wand he'd stolen from the wizard, Dumbledore, just hasn't been working out as well as he'd expected. Foolish man… Naga… man-Naga… whatever." She smirked, and her expression was filled with malicious glee, making it clear that whatever _thing _existed behind Megan's eyes, it wasn't quite as human or as artless as it had attempted to seem.

"Still, at least he's finally taken my advice and begun winning over a real source of power in this world: flesh and blood. It took me months of trying to convince him to convert the weak-minded simpletons on this island to become his slaves." She winked at Jeremy, as if imparting an important secret to him. "Get enough of it on your side and keep it under your thumb and it'll win over steel any day. Well, as long as its human, anyway." Moving away, she approached Oliver Wood, who had retaken his post as silent sentinel at the side of the chair. "Isn't that right, my pet?"

Reaching up, Megan touched the wizard's face, and Wood's eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure. He rubbed his cheek against her hand, practically purring for her attention.

_Who the fuck are you?_ Jeremy wondered.

Megan –or rather, the thing wearing Megan's skin, because now Jeremy had no doubts as to the fact that the real Jones had vacated the premises- tweaked an eyebrow at him. "I'm monologuing, aren't I?" she asked, her amusement back in the blink of an eye. "Forgive me. It's been entirely too long since I've been able to actually _talk _to anyone about this. Twenty centuries locked in a dark place does funny things to a girl." She stepped back, and gave a mock bow. "I am Lilitu, the Whore of Babylon, the Mother of the Vampire, of the Veela, of the Sex-Witch and Sex-Warlock. I am the original, the last, and the one and only Succubus on the planet."

She smiled up at him, and Jeremy had to admit, it was quite an adorable look for her… for a nasty, evil, psycho bitch.

"And I confidently predict that you and I, Vampire," she continued, "are going to be _very _good friends. Starting immediately."

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Please review!**


	33. Ch 31: My Bitter Hands Washed in Black

**Author's Notes:**

**When I finished it, this chapter ended up being over 13K, so I've split it up. The next chapter comes next week to give you time to read and review this first half.**

**Kudos to the first person who can figure out where the title of this chapter comes from.**

* * *

**_CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: My Bitter Hands... Washed in Black_**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (half-past twelve o'clock P.M.)**_

With an exhausted Morag hovering over Snape, checking his vitals and offering him potions to pepper-up his strength, Phil concentrated on the task Zabini had given him: packing up Severus' tent. It didn't take long using magic, but he still had to be very careful with his mentor's 'special black case', which contained vials of various poisons and deadly potion concoctions held in stasis.

Shrinking everything and fitting it into a Bag of Holding took less than half an hour. At last, only Snape's cot, his bedding, and the man himself were left.

"How's he doing?" he asked Morag.

The witch looked grim. "Tha' potions help ease him, but tha' disease tha's wrackin' his body... tha' I don't know how ta fix. I'm no licensed Healer, ya know. I only had a li'l training under me da, who was a Healer at Mungo's."

Her Scottish accent was thick and slurred, indicating either a high level of exhaustion or anxiety, or possibly both. Phil couldn't tell, exactly, as the women held it together well under stress. He wasn't close to MacDougal, but had known her from school, and then at Kirkwall. She reminded him a lot of Professor McGonagall – tough, staid, unwavering in her duty. She was young, but her eyes looked ancient, as if she'd seen and done things no one should see or do. He wondered what her story was...

"Is the infection going to kill him?" he quietly asked, not wanting to disturb Snape's rest.

She tilted her head as if to say, 'don't know'. "Righ' now, he needs ta sleep. Tell Zabini not ta move him 'til last, iffn' ya can. Allow tha' potions I've given 'im ta work a bit. He's verra weak."

Phil let out a resigned sigh. Whatever happened now was out of his hands. "Thanks, Morag, for coming to help. I know you're really busy right now." He'd run into the Medical Tent earlier and seen her leaning over Longbottom, who was in a bad way. Apparently, his teammate had nearly died the night before, and Morag had been checking up on him.

The witch nodded. "I'll come back ta check on 'im in a few hours."

She took her leave.

Phil readjusted the blankets over Snape's shoulders, making sure he was bundled up. "I've got to go help Zabini and the others get ready for the jump to the new spot. I'll be back in a bit, though."

Heading out, he assured the tent flaps were closed behind him, sealing in the warmth from the charm he'd cast earlier.

The cold Irish air hit him hard as a wintery gust blew down through the copse of pines, and Phil cursed, wishing he'd worn a scarf. There was no time, however, to consider such things. The entire camp was in an uproar, preparing for the jump. The urgency of their last-minute tasks was evident in the way they quickly moved from place to place with purpose and quick stride. Already some tents had been struck, and more were being brought down and magicked into Bags of Holding even as he walked past them towards the War Tent.

"That's it, nice and slowly," he heard Granger call out, directing the collapse of the Main Pavilion off to his right. "Your side's sagging, Boot. Focus, please!"

Phil kept walking.

He hit the War Tent in time to stop Zabini and Nott together going in. "Hey," he called to the other men, who stopped to greet him in return. "Thought you might want to know: Snape's in a bad way. Morag's been to see him this morning, and she gave him some potions, but she thinks he shouldn't be moved for the new location until the last minute. He's really weak and needs to rest."

Nott's entire demeanour went stiff with alarm. He traded a strange glance with Zabini.

"Go," Blaise instructed his friend, and without another word, Nott was jogging off towards Snape's tent.

Odd.

"Shit," Zabini swore under his breath. He looked long and hard at Phil. "I've got to stay for guard duty. Weasley needs a food break."

Phil understood the unspoken request. "What do you need me to do?"

Blaise's grin was wide and brilliantly white. "Good man."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland **_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (same time)**_

"I canna go wit' ya," Seamus Finnigan explained. He glowed with an ethereal incandescent light that was cold, Draco noticed. "I'm buried here, and 'tho I'm no wraith who canna ever stray far from their death spot, even bein' this far from me grave... it hurts."

Draco nodded. "Understood. Just being there to help the group from The Fortress find their way to our camp was enough. We're grateful, Finnigan."

The Irish seemed as if he wanted to say more, so Draco waited him out.

"Listen, there's somethin' ya should know: the Dementors gatherin' 'round Cotteen aren't there by accident. I was talkin' ta me mam's ghost –she died a year ago in a wand duel, fightin' off a gang 'o Snatchers, dontcha know– and she said somethin' up there called the Spooks in, and gathered 'em all together in one spot. Happened a few days after her death."

That definitely caught Draco's attention. "Who'd dare something so stupid, and for what purpose?"

Seamus shrugged. "Don't know, but I could take a look fer ya, if ya want. Ya'd just have ta meet with me somewhere in Ireland after ta pick me brain."

Draco considered that. Someone with the strength to not only summon all of the Dementors in Britain to one location, but to hold their attention for the last year in the same spot sounded like someone dabbling in powerful dark magic. That person could be another one of Mort's major chess pieces, like Greyback, Bellatrix, or one of his Old Guard, like Macnair, or it could be a new player on the board showing off their talents in a bid for power. He had no idea how Mort's war on his own people was faring, but he knew there had been many who'd been discontent with the status quo and had been hoping to overthrow their distracted leader. Perhaps this army of Dementors waiting in the wings was part of someone's plan to take the throne from Mort?

...Or maybe it was just mating season for Dementors, and they had a favourite magical nesting ground that they returned to every so many years, like migrating birds or something.

Whatever the reason, it was worth taking a look into, if only to answer the questions he'd posed. And since Finnigan couldn't die a second time, he was definitely the perfect man for the job.

"How long would you need to get back up there and to snoop around?" he asked his ghostly comrade.

"Mebbe four ta five days ta get back up there. Floatin' may be faster than walkin', but it's no fast Apparition. Then another day ta sneak in, listen... if there's anythin' worth listenin' to, that is ta say."

"A week then," Draco determined. He nodded. "We can meet at Ballycastle, on the pier. It sticks out into the water. You won't be able to miss it. I'll meet you there next Tuesday, at dawn."

Seamus agreed. "Luck o' the Irish be wit' ya, mate."

Draco smirked at the former Gryffindor. "You, too. Ghost or not, going near Dementors, I'm sure you're going to need it more than me."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Blessington, Ireland and Dumfries, Scotland**_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (same time)**_

"Ready?" Will asked.

Su nodded, dropping the dead body of one of Mort's sympathizers with a casual flick of her hand. It fell like a slab of deboned meat to the cheap, laminate flooring in the abandoned hardware store. She wiped at her chin and licked her lips. "Yes, I am ready."

After leaving the campsite the night before, Will had taken Su with him back to Blessington, as they'd discussed. They'd hunted the town together, clearing out the main street's shops of anyone bearing the Dark Mark or whose mind gave the slightest hint of a loyalty to Mort's cause. After determining that none of them had a clue as to Jeremy's whereabouts, Su had gorged on Death Eater and D.E. sympathizer blood until her _Vampirius_ was fully sated and her chest wound had healed well enough for her to not only stand on her own two feet again without her knees wobbling, but also to Apparate short distances in that unique, swirly-light show she often employed. In one fell swoop, they'd assured the enemy wouldn't be attacking their friends in Wicklow any time soon, and they'd guaranteed Su's fast recovery.

As the dawn approached, they two had finally decided to give the carnage a rest, and cast powerful protection charms around the loft above where they now stood. Bunking down, they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms right as the sun peaked over the horizon, its light gently filtering in through the cracks in the closed blinds.

Hours later, they'd woken up re-energized in their intentions to find Jeremy's trail as soon as possible. After checking on Su's wound one more time, the two of them had made use of the bathroom before they'd headed out. They'd also used their wands to freshen up, and Su had cast some sort of Glamour Charm so that her long, straight hair had been tied up and braided in a long, single plait that fell nearly to her waist. Will had thought the style quite a fetching look for her, and had told her as much.

Su's cheeks had pinked. "Thank you."

He'd bent his head to kiss her, realising he'd been remiss in showing her gentle affection thus far (sex they'd had in abundance, but when it had come to romance, he'd been an epic failure). A fraction away from her mouth, however, he'd stopped, noticing a dark blur moving out of the corner of his eye, coming from the open doorway to the hall.

In a flash, his Veela had come awake. It had taken absolute control of him, just as it had in the church the day before, and had reached their enemy before the man could finish uttering the Killing Curse. In an easy snatch-and-grab, Will's Veela had the man's wand snapped in two. Then, slamming his fist forward, he'd hit the Death Eater so hard, that he'd flown through the air and collided with the opposite wall. The sickening 'crunch' of breaking bone had been loud in the narrow hallway, and their enemy had slumped to the ground, not dead, but incapacitated with a broken spine.

At that point, Su had stepped forward and effortlessly picked the man up with her preternatural strength. She'd finished him off for breakfast.

Now, as they left the hardware store and proceeded down the main strip of Blessington, they kept to the sidewalk, eyes and ears alert for signs that anyone else might be stalking them. The streets remained deserted and silent, however. Clearly, whoever was left in the town proper after last night's slaughter-fest was keeping as still and quiet as possible to avoid attracting attention. Even the storm front that hovered on the horizon seemed to pause in its progress, as if afraid to come closer.

When they reached the church in the centre of town, Will's hope for finding a better trail for Jeremy's whereabouts in the light of day began to fade.

There had been a fight here last night _after_ the one he, Su, and Jeremy had engaged in. A small pile of Snatcher corpses were stacked off to the side, closer to the church, moved there by someone after Will had been here to investigate the evening before. Those victims bore the tell-tale signs of Vampire and Veela ravaging: their throats were torn open, their limbs were ripped from their sockets, and some had even had their heads disconnected from their necks. However, new bodies lay inert on the concrete to take their place, these dressed in the traditional black robes of Death Eaters. They hadn't been there the night before.

Further evidence of a secondary battle on the spot included dark scorch marks from magical attacks, evident just about everywhere – on nearby cars, on the pavement, on the side of the church. With no wind present to disseminate the smell, the foul rotten-egg scent of sulphur also lingered, indicating the use of _Avada Kedavra_.

In his current form, that was just about all Will was able to tell. If the Veela were to take him over, he'd have access to its more evolved scenting abilities, but to his increasing irritation, the beast was currently sleeping and not reacting to his mental prodding.

"He fell here," he stated, walking over to the blood spot he'd discovered the night before. "I smelled dog all around the area last night, but it's faded now."

Su knelt down and inspected the drying stain. "Werewolf," she stated with conviction, picking out a stray bit of fur that had been stuck in the blood.

Will nodded. "That was my guess, too."

She stared down the far end of the street. "Nothing further that way?"

"The scent ended a few feet in that direction." He pointed northeast. "Jeremy was either flown away on broom, Apparated out, or Portkey'd away, because the scent goes completely cold one step past the curb."

Su's eyes narrowed to slits. "Why take him? Why not kill him? A Vampire is too dangerous an enemy to imprison."

Considering the possibilities made Will's guts twist around in his belly.

"Everyone knows Mort's used his wolves to kill off all of the Vamps in Europe," he stated. "Maybe Old Snake-face made a mistake. Maybe he needs Vampire blood now, for some reason."

His lover frowned. "How would he know to look _here_ for such a thing, though?"

Will shrugged. "The traitor from Kirkwall could have told him. Or it could have been that girl Jer drank from here a few weeks back. She could have been a sympathizer who told one of the Snatchers, who told a Death Eater, who told Mort."

Su looked down at the large spot of blood at her feet, running a long, pale finger over it. "Still it is strange, capturing a Vampire rather than killing it."

"Maybe it's because he's Animagus, too?" Will guessed. "Everyone knows Mort's orders have been to capture anyone with that power and bring them to him for some reason. People say he sucks the magic from them to stay alive."

Su frowned, pausing.

"Perhaps," she cautiously offered.

She glanced back down the street again, her thoughts turned inward.

"However, there may be another reason entirely," she offered. "I have sensed something... different... since Mort rose to power - some disturbance in the air that reeks of power. When I learned of the Dark Lord's discovery and training of the forbidden Unmentionable curses to his Tracker army within this last year, I suspected that was the source, but now I do not think so. The timeline is off, and learning archaic spells is not enough to explain what I have seen and felt. No, something else is at work here – something ancient and evil."

"What?"

She shook her head. "I am not sure. I require time to puzzle it through. In any case, we should decide where to go to from here and quickly. Time is of the essence." Straightening up, she indicated that she and Will should get out of the middle of the street, and head back inside the now-ruined church. "I require temporary shelter while we plot out our next steps. I cannot abide prolonged exposure to direct sunlight," she admitted as they made their way across and up the stone stairs into the holy sanctuary. "Unlike Jeremy, I am affected by it."

"I didn't know that," Will admitted, a bit chagrined. He turned over a pew for them to sit down upon once they were inside. They sat next to each other, and Su leaned against his shoulder. It was only then that he felt her slight trembling. "I knew you had slightly different powers from each other, but I didn't know you'd have different weaknesses."

"We are not from the same clan. Each faction has its own unique… eccentricities."

"I always thought Vampires were the same the world over."

Tilting her head, she looked up at him with a patient smile. He noted a small sheen of sweat dotting her upper lip. "No. We are most definitely different from each other. Those differences are, in fact, why Muggle myths about us vary so very much from culture to culture."

"Oh."

Will thought the subject fascinating, honestly, but returned to the issue at hand with a mental note to ask Su more at a later date. He wanted to know everything there was to know about his two mates, but right now, they needed to focus on finding Jeremy. "So, Werewolf," he said, and sighed. "You think so, too."

Su's cheek rubbed against him as she nodded her dark head. "Our mate is not dead, Willem. I have reached down the chain that tethers him to my heart and felt no answer to my call, but I do not sense a termination in the bond between us either. In my very soul I _know _he is not dead, and I know you sense it as well. The only logical conclusion is that he has been abducted by the Werewolf who bested him in combat. An Alpha Werewolf, surely, for no other species of dog-like creature –except the now-extinct three-headed _Polycephalous Cerberus_– can take down a fully-feral Vampire. Therefore, we must go into the den of wolves. It is our only lead."

"Cumbria." He sighed in resignation. "Damn."

Werewolf territory in Britain had been staked out after Fenrir Greyback and his pack had wiped out the last of the known Vampires on the island sometime within the first year of Mort's rising to power. Everyone knew by now to stay well away from Winlatter Forest Park in Cumbria as a result.

"I've never been there," he admitted.

"Me, either."

"Going to be a tough fight."

"I know."

"I can't convince you to go back to camp and stay safely there while I do this, can I?"

Su sat up, took his hand in hers, and held it to her steady heart. "And who would keep you safe if I were not there to guard your back?" She let him go, and stood to her full height, looking beautiful and fierce against the backdrop of the ruined church. "No, you could not chase me away, Willem. In life or in death, you, Jeremy, and I are bound to each other now. I will _never_ forsake that bond."

He sighed again, and stood as well. Holding his out his hand, she took it without hesitation, and he drew her into the circle of his arms and hugged her.

Abruptly, his Veela came awake. It bullied its way forward, overtaking him. Will was effortlessly shuffled backwards in his own consciousness, relegated to listening and watching as the beast inside him spoke with his mate.

"I care for you, as well, Vampire," it admitted, albeit hesitantly. "We both do. It is... quite an unexpected turn of events."

Strange, it was only the male Veela speaking now, despite referring to its self in the first person plural. Will sensed the female Veela inside was listening, but not participating in the discussion.

Su reached up between them to touch Will's face with soft caresses. Her eyes glowed red, indicating her _Vampirius _was awake and had come forward to overtake her as well. Her voice, when she spoke, was huskier, sultrier – very female.

"I did not anticipate our mating, either."

"This... arrangement... is not natural for our kind," his Veela continued.

Su nodded. "It is the same for us."

"We are meant to be enemies."

"And yet we are not, and you love Jeremy."

The Veela paused, and Will could feel its trepidation.

"It is peculiar that he is our heart's mate, but we accepted it long ago."

Wrapping her arms tighter around him, Su reached up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to Will's ear. "Perhaps I can convince you to accept me in the same way someday."

The Veela leaned down and inhaled her scent, sighing in pleasure against her hairline. Will's body went instantly hard.

"Perhaps you can."

"Later?" Su's _Vampirius_ offered, rubbing her lithe body against his.

"Mmm."

With that, the Veela slipped back, returning control of Will's body to its host. Will shook off a small bout of disorientation at the sudden shift. "Fuck, that's weird," he growled, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a rush to clear his head.

He attempted to step back a bit, to catch some air, but Su's _Vampirius_ was still very much in charge of the body it shared, and it would not let him stray far. It stared up at him with blatant sexual hunger reflected in its blood-red eyes. "I will have your mate mark soon, _baeuja_," it promised, speaking through her ruby-stained lips.

"Mate mark?" Will was confused by the term, having never heard it before.

Su blinked several times as her _Vampirius_ let her go, drifting back into her mind as Will's Veela did to him. He caught her as her legs wobbled.

"I've got you," he eased her. "Here, let's sit-"

Stubbornly, Su shook her head and locked her knees. "I do not know what my Vampire was attempting to accomplish with that conversation, but we have wasted enough time. Every minute lost may bring Jeremy closer to death. We must go on and quickly."

Will agreed, but still, he worried for Su's health. She had been near death less than twenty-four hours earlier. "You sure your heart is healed enough for this?"

She nodded. "Yes, but it would be best if you were to Apparate us to as close to Cumbria as you have been before. I will save my strength for the trek to the wolves' den and for the battle when we have arrived upon their doorstep."

"Dumfries is as close as I can get us – maybe sixty miles away or so. It's probably several days walk from there."

Su straightened her shoulders. "Then let us get started."

Giving a final look around the ruined church, Will felt regret. They didn't even have time to right this wrong they'd committed, and would be leaving this holy ground a smashed and defiled place. That didn't sit well with him.

He gathered Su into his arms again. "Hold on, sweetheart. Here we go."

Summoning his magical strength to Side-Along Apparate, he turned and stepped, releasing his will and the fast-travel spell at the same moment. The two disappeared from Ireland in a crack of thunder, never to return.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (half-past one o'clock P.M.)**_

The Main Pavilion had been brought down and the kitchen supplies properly packed. Malfoy had been woken up twenty minutes earlier, handed a cup of wicked black coffee, and told to vacate the tent he'd been sleeping in so they could tear it down. The camp was almost ready to go now. Only the War Tent, the Medical Tent, and Snape's tent remained standing.

"Good job," Draco said, sipping at his half-empty steaming cup, watching the activity with an assessing eye. "Have you checked on Longbottom? Can he be moved yet?"

Hermione nodded. "Morag says the potions have repaired most of the damage and she thinks he's out of immediate danger, but she's worried about what the jump might do. She thinks it could rip open things that just finished mending."

"He'll be moved last, then."

"With Snape," she agreed. "He's taken a turn for the worse, according to MacDougall. Theo's with him. They're going to jump together, along with Neville, Penelope, Fay, and Charlie. I'll stay with them to make sure they get out without a hitch."

Draco's cup lowered, as did his brows. "You're to stay by my side, Granger."

She glanced over at him. "They're going last, Malfoy. What if Death Eaters attack the camp right then? Aside from Charlie and Theo, there aren't enough power-hitting wands to protect them. One of us has to be there for them." She poked him in the arm. "You have to jump with Pansy, Blaise, and the other advance scouts, now that Jeremy and Penelope aren't available to do so. We need your wolf's nose to the ground to make sure the new spot is safe for the rest of us, and then you need to stay to assure it remains that way."

He gave her a dark look. "And I suppose you intend on standing guard over McLaggen while Zabini hops off with me? Forget it." He turned his concentration back to the group, who were beginning to gather in their assigned groups around the Portkeys that had been handed out earlier. "Blaise stays, he jumps last with the prisoner and the injured, and you go with me and stay on the island."

She stared hard at him. "You can't leash me like this, Draco. I won't let you!"

Vanishing his now-empty mug without a word and a negligent wave of his hand, he gave her his full attention once more.

"Your wilfulness is an irritating trait, Granger. We don't have time for this."

Her heart pounded in her temples as her anger increased. "I warned you already not to make the mistake of assuming you could control me-"

With one step, Draco closed the distance between them, disregarding all respect for Hermione's private space. He loomed over her, intimidating all the more for the bizarre black-diamond aura that hovered around him. "And I warned you what would happen if you went near McLaggen, didn't I?" He leaned his nose towards the bend in her neck and sharply inhaled, scenting her like some kind of dog. "You disobeyed me. You've seen him today." His growl reverberated in his chest, and sounded decidedly feral and wolfish. "Did you touch him?"

Hermione jabbed her wand into his chest. "Back off, Malfoy," she hissed, aware of members of the group beginning to turn in their direction, their gazes questioning. "I'll hex you into a previous life if you don't stop this madness right now."

He completely discounted her threat. "It's a simple question, Granger: Did. You. Touch. Him?"

His voice was a whispering menace in her ear, his breath a hot animal against her throat.

Painfully aware of the show they were putting on for the group and embarrassed by it, Hermione decided it best not to make a scene. Later, when they were alone, she'd give him what-for. "No, I did not. I poured coffee down his throat, and checked up on him, that's all," she murmured.

Draco's long, pale fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Lucky for him, then," he softly menaced.

Tired of this ridiculous, redundant fighting, she hissed at him under her breath, "Let me go this instant, or I swear I'll _Stupefy_ you into next week, Draco!"

He chuckled, his mood switching in a heartbeat, throwing her for a loop.

"First it's hexing me into a previous life, now it's stunning me into next week. Which is it to be, then, Granger: forwards or back?"

Shoving him, she pulled her wrist from his grasp, even as he was letting go. "You're such an arse," she snapped, turning on her heel and stalking off. "I need to get away from you before I do something I'll regret."

She'd made it only five steps when he called out to her retreating back, "We leave in twenty minutes."

Ignoring him, Hermione marched on, swerving around trees, heading for Snape's tent. Her hackles were up, her blood pressure pounding in her skull, her fury desperate to be given free reign. Fortunately, those she crossed seemed to sense that she was steaming and on the edge; they stepped out of her path without delay, giving her a wide berth.

Just who did the man think he was, anyway? _No one_ bullied her into backing down – _especially _the likes of Draco Malfoy! She'd received much worse threats than he could dish out in her lifetime, and she'd met them all and lived to tell the tale! No drudge, she'd earned her stripes in this war and then some. She deserved his respect, not to be treated as some first year that needed her wand held for her!

Honestly, if Malfoy foolishly thought he could browbeat her into toeing the line, he'd have another thing coming to him!

Approaching Snape's tent, she waved a warming bubble over the entrance, to assure she didn't let any chill in, having heard the news through the grapevine that her old Potions Professor had lately taken a turn for the worst. Having been born with one foot planted in the Muggle world, she was well-aware of what Tuberculosis was and with how its victims were particularly susceptible to cold weather.

If only she could Apparate Snape out to somewhere warmer, drier! Getting him to the Sahara desert, though, would take a miracle... like someone from Carl Hopkins' group appearing any minute now to whisk Snape away to their rebel cell on the African continent. She knew of no one else who'd ever been that far.

As Hermione entered the tent, she noted that Theo was alone at his father's side. He'd transfigured a chair and was sitting in it backwards, arms folded across the top in casual repose. His hawkish gaze narrowed on her as she stepped through the canvas flaps and quickly shut them behind, however.

"How is he?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb Snape's slumber, although it appeared a restless one. The older man's brow was drenched with sweat, his skin was pasty, and he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

Theo looked back at his mentor, the man who had never openly claimed him as his son. There was no censure in his expression, no bitterness, only a deep, abiding loyalty and caring, and a mature acceptance of his unfair circumstances that far outstripped his young years. He was, she thought, very much like his father in that moment.

"Worse today. The cold affects him, even with Warming Charms. And... Morag says the treatments might have come too late." He sounded forlorn, and the briefest flash of anguish passed over his expression. "I wish..."

He left the thought hanging, but it was clear what he would have said. They hadn't been comrades for very long, but the brief events surrounding the infiltration of The Madam's House had bonded her and Theo in a way, and she felt she knew what it was he would have said. Severus was Theo's unacknowledged father until just recently, and then only because Theo had been the one to blow that secret wide open. How it must pain him to have never been given the chance to claim his mentor as his dad, and to pretend ignorance in the matter.

Stepping to Theo's side, Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "He'll be fine. Once we're out of these tents and living inside houses with four walls, we'll set him before a fire every day and shove potions at him until he's back to being the old, cranky taskmaster we all know and love."

Theo glanced up at her, a wry smile upon his lips. "Oh, joy."

His sarcasm lacked bite.

With a sigh, his amusement slipped away, and as his attention was pulled back once more to his father. "He can have my bed in the new place. I want him to sleep in a real bed."

Hermione nodded. "I'll make it up myself when I get there in a few minutes, with fresh sheets and a soft pillow."

"You're jumping first with Drake's group, then?"

Hermione grit her back teeth. "Yes, at his _repeated_ insistence."

Another smile tugged at Theo's mouth. "Doesn't trust you here alone with McLaggen, I take it? Afraid you'll take up the crusade and free him, like you tried to do for the house-elves back in our school days?"

She snorted. "He's such an arse," she restated her earlier sentiment.

Theo shrugged. "A jealous man always is, especially when he's in love."

She pulled her hand away, and stepped back, putting some distance between herself and that thought. She was much too angry with Draco to forgive his stupidity, even couched as it might be in such a possibility. Even if he felt the same depth of emotion for her as she did for him –something he hadn't admitted to yet; the most he'd divulged was the desire to have sex with her– she wouldn't allow that to be used as an excuse to cage her.

The event in Draco's tent this morning couldn't happen again – not until he began treating her as an equal, as they'd been at the start of this rebellion. Oath given by her to follow him or not, he'd never behaved towards her as if she were subservient to him, and she wouldn't risk losing that parity now simply because she was desperate to tumble the bed with him. If she gave in to their mutual lust, he'd find a way to use it to impound her from the fighting, corralling her duties. Either that or he'd slip away unnoticed one day and distract the enemy, focussing them on him to keep her out of harm's way. She wouldn't tolerate either meddling attempt.

Frankly, she didn't need Draco's protection. She needed his respect and trust.

Shunting aside her worries for the moment, Hermione focussed on the here and now, and on what she _could_ affect. "You two are going to jump last," she informed her friend, "along with Neville."

Theo smirked, and this time, his tone had some sharpness to it. "The injured left 'til last to fend for themselves, hmm?"

She firmly shook her head. "Charlie will be the main escort for your group, and I intend on coming back, too. I want to make sure your rear is protected, just in case."

Theo tilted his head, his smirk growing wider, more shark-like. "Draco won't like that very much."

"Malfoy can get stuffed. I'm _not_ leaving anyone behind."

Nott glanced up at her, his expression softening, his mouth tilting with a genuine smile, with just the smallest touch of wistfulness to it. "There's the Gryffindor spirit we all love to mock." He turned back to assessing his father as Snape stirred in his sleep. "That kind of nobility is bound to get you killed someday, you know."

Hermione shrugged. "Everyone dies. At least I'll go out for the right reason."

As she turned and left the tent, she heard Theo speak softly to his father. "Right reason, but wrong way, old man."

**X~~~~~X**

_**Raithlin Island, Northern Ireland**_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (half-past two o'clock P.M.)**_

Pansy was part of the advance party to jump to the new location. She gripped the Portkey Granger had made earlier –a shopping bag that read 'Fresh & Wild' on the side, which someone had swiped on a supplies raid- and felt that familiar, sickening pull when the spell was activated by Draco.

Raithlin Island was dismally cold and windy. That was her first impression upon landing. The second was that the location of their landing was wide open, as they'd come in literally on a pier hanging out into the ocean.

"This is Church Bay, the pier for the ferry that used to run between here and Ballycastle," Granger informed them. "And over there," she pointed off to the right from Pansy's perspective, "is the only town on the island. That's the main street running along it. The rest of the land area was a dedicated bird sanctuary and was basically off-limits to the public."

"Let's go see if anyone's home," Draco stated.

Without a word, he waved his wand over himself and shifted into the form of a large, white wolf. His clothing flopped to the ground and his wand fell with a muffled clank in the cloth of his robes.

Granger's knees abruptly wobbled, and the witch nearly lost her balance. She gripped her head as if something pained her, and it took her a few seconds to regain control. When she did, she was clearly _not_ happy. She snarled at Draco, "A little advance warning would have been nice. Your pull... it's strong and... disorienting."

Ah, pack dynamics. Pansy felt something similar when she and Blaise shifted at the same time. Her change made her want to leap around like a fool, to tangle up with him, and to roll around in the grass at his feet like a kit in love. It was a strange compulsion and difficult to deny, but it didn't hurt, not like Granger seemed to suffer. Maybe it was different when it was Animagi transformation versus Transfiguration?

Wolf-Draco merely stared up at Granger with those unfathomable grey eyes, and then he growled something, and turned, loping off.

Granger shook her head. "Arse, I swear," she murmured under her breath, and with a wave of her wand, gathered up Drake's clothing and wand. She put them in one of her Bags of Holding on her belt for safekeeping. "Is anyone else able to do that?" she asked.

"I can," Pansy volunteered. "I'm an Animagus - a fox."

"Good. Your sense of smell and hearing will be even better than Malfoy's, and you won't drop your clothes or things everywhere."

Pansy sighed. She hadn't anticipating changing. "Right, but you owe me," she groused, and changed into her animal form.

The world abruptly got larger as she got smaller, and colours and shapes were sharper.

"Go in whatever opposite direction Malfoy's going. Report back here in an hour," Granger instructed her.

Pansy bounded off as Granger gave instructions to the rest of the scout party, but by then, Pansy's nose had caught an interesting scent, one that was very familiar to her in her human form, having smelt it regularly around The Madam's House. It was the scent of strong sexual attraction, and it was coming from Draco _and_ Granger...

An hour later, she met everyone back at the rendezvous point with news that there hadn't been a human scent in town for a very long time, a year at least by her reckoning. Malfoy confirmed her assessment, and the rest of the party stated much the same thing. It seemed Raithlin Island was deserted.

As Draco finished re-dressing, zipping up his trousers last (Granger looked away, and stayed as far from him as possible, without leaving the confines of their little circle, Pansy noted), he gave them all instructions to begin setting up the cottages they'd found at the end of the long street for their residency. With that, he Apparated away, heading back to Wicklow to begin the evacuation of the others.

Granger seemed more relaxed after that. She fished around inside her Bag of Holding on her belt and pulled out two additional bags. "Jules, Terry, I want you two to see if there's anything salvageable from the houses and businesses on the main strip," she ordered, tossing the two bags at them. "Take whatever supplies you can, and then follow the main road northwest towards the cottages at the end to find us when you're done." She turned to Pansy. "You and I are getting the houses ready. Come on."

The group split at the end of the pier, with her and Granger heading left, Boot and Parkes going right.

When they were out of earshot, Pansy gave free reign to her curiosity. "So, which house will you be settling down in?"

"Command central."

"The biggest one, then."

Granger made a face. "You're going to be there, too, so I wouldn't be so eager to judge. We're going to expand the rooms with magic so everyone can fit inside."

Pansy sighed. "So, you mean I'll get to hear the nightly ruckus from yours and Drake's room. Wonderful. Is it too late to invest in those ugly earmuffs Sprout made us wear around the baby Mandrakes that one time? Fashionable they may not be, but they were certainly effective at blocking out the higher-ranged screeching noises."

Gryffindor's Princess seemed to bristle at Pansy's joke. "Let me save you the trouble of hunting down a pair," she huffed with displeasure, "I have absolutely no intention of bunking down with Malfoy."

Huh. Now _that_ was news.

"No? But you were sleeping in his tent last night."

"I was temporarily borrowing it," Granger murmured, rubbing the side of her head, as if she was fighting off a headache. "Malfoy slept in Theo's tent."

Pansy stopped in the middle of the empty street, stunned. "You mean to tell me you're not shagging him, yet? I thought for sure you two would be on each other like rabbits at a springtime revel last night."

Granger threw her a nasty look over her shoulder, but kept walking. "Not that it's any of your business, but he and I are not going there."

Ooh, a scandal!

Whatever Drake had done, clearly Granger was locking him out of her knickers for it. How delicious! Pansy's nose began twitching in excitement. "Why not? You want him. It's all over your scent," she pressed, trying to get the facts.

Her partner said nothing, but the woman's pace increased and her fists clenched at her sides.

"I smelled it on you," Pansy relentlessly continued. "I'm sure he smelled it, too. Hell, but I could smell it on _him_ that he's dying to mount you."

Granger whirled on her with all the spitting, righteous fury of a kitten confronting a dog for the first time. "I am not some bitch in heat to be lorded over by some- some-"

For the first time since she'd known Granger, the witch seemed at a total loss for words.

Lucky for her, Pansy was there, to the verbal rescue.

"-some sexy as all get-out wizard who's totally in love with you?"

Granger pointed a finger in her face. "If he loved me, he wouldn't try to cage me like he is."

Ah, so that was the crux of the matter: Drake's edicts, and the fight he and Granger had had over them. The rumour-mill had been hard at work, whispering about them over breakfast this morning. When she'd heard the conjecture, Pansy had thought it simply camp gossip, but now... It seemed the man had overstepped himself this time, and had pushed the wrong witch with too much force. Granger was not one to put up with anyone's bullshit, much less Draco Malfoy's brand.

Realising she'd said too much, Granger snapped her mouth closed, turned, and marched on, leaving a trail of angry muttering in her wake. She used the phrase, 'the stupid arse' a lot. Pansy tried to contain her glee. Oh, Draco was finally going to regret his chauvinistic leanings! _And about time, too_, she thought, knowing that had been the exact reason she and her first lover had never really worked out_._

She hurried to catch up. Once she and her fearless leader were side-by-side, she began the push for the facts. "Is this about McLaggen? Blaise said you and Drake had a row over him last night. I told you that bastard was going to be more trouble than he was worth. Just slit his throat and be done with it."

Granger shook her head, her facial expression one of exasperation. "Why can't any of you see what a powerful ally he'd make? He knows spells we currently have no counter against."

"The darkest of dark magic," Pansy pointed out. "You really want _that_ kind of evil anywhere near you?"

Her ally wouldn't be dodged, however. "We have to learn them, to try to figure out a counter. I watched Jason Swann killed by one of those Unmentionable spells up in Kirkwall, and it was utterly horrible. I don't want to lose anyone else in that way. Also, Cor's been deep inside the enemy's camp. We could tap the information in his head, and try to figure out Mort's plans. Maybe we can even find a way to reverse the conversion process without hurting the victim. Think of how many people we could rescue and turn to our side!"

"So do all that. What'll it take, a week, maybe two to learn what you need? Kill him then."

From Pansy's point of view, that seemed the most logical and simple solution for dealing with the enemy.

Granger stared at her askance as they swiftly approached the first of the cottages. "You know I have just as much reason to hate him as you do – and for the same reason."

"Yeah, so?"

Pansy didn't like to be reminded of that time.

Granger was quiet for a moment as they walked up the front walk to the cottage. She stared at the front door a moment, turning her wand around and around in her hand. "Let me put it this way: if I were to _Imperio_ you right now, and force you to kill someone in our group, would it be your fault?"

A painful lurch in her chest hitched Pansy's breath. Now it was her turn to clench her fists, her turn to feel vulnerable. "Don't," she spat between gritted teeth. "Don't try to make me forgive him with that kind of logic. I won't. I can't."

The other witch turned and looked at her. "Fine, then think of it another way: it'll eat you up – all that hate you're holding onto."

"I need my hate. It gives me a reason to get up in the morning."

And wasn't that the truth? Ever since she'd been a little child, her hatred for her mother had sustained her.

Looking back towards their objective, Granger took a deep breath and let it out, letting off the pressure. "Your choice. Just know this: unless Cormac reverts to his old ways, I'm not killing him. Resolve yourself to that, Parkinson. Merlin knows, I've had to."

With that, the two women entered the cottage. They spent the next hour studiously avoiding each other as they scoped out the house and began making magical adjustments to make it habitable for a large party. Granger added four bedrooms, and Pansy another four. Together, they expanded the main common area and the kitchen, added a War Room, and put in three extra bathrooms, in addition to the two already in the house.

By the time they were done, they were both exhausted, and the next group from Wicklow had appeared. Pansy went out to greet them at the pier as Granger worked on the next cottage with Julie Parkes, who'd returned at Boot's side with her Bag of Holding stuffed to the brim.

"I help," Krum's brother offered, and headed in the direction Pansy indicated the cottages were located.

"I'll come with," Pucey offered. He and his girlfriend trailed after Krum, leaving Pansy alone with former members of The Madam's House, all spies who had followed her into hell and back. She gave them all encouraging nods and a smile here and there, and led them on with the promise of real beds and soft linens.

"Ginny Weasley's next with her group from The Fortress. We're staggering the magical jumps to throw off possible pursuit, so she'll be here in another few minutes," Cornfoot informed her. "Malfoy said he wanted her people guarded by you and Granger personally, and for the strongest wards to be put up around them." He glanced down the street, towards where the others had gone. "Although, from the way I hear it, maybe those wards need to be placed around Malfoy - to protect him from Granger's temper." He shook his head and whistled. "Now _that's _a battle I plan to stay far, far away from once the wands come out."

Pansy grinned and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Don't be silly, Stephen. You'll miss all the fun." She glanced over her shoulder in Granger's direction. "Me? I plan to have ring-side seats to that show, if I can get them."

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

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**Author's Notes:**

**Please review!**

**Polycephalous Cerberus = The species name for a three-headed dog, like Fluffy, Hagrid's pet (the dog exists in canon, but I invented the scientific name for it for my fics, which _doesn't_ exist in canon). In this story, they are now all extinct creatures in Britain, Lord Mort having killed Fluffy himself.**

**Willem & Su's walk from Dumfries to Cumbria – The distance between these two locations is approximately 60 miles. The average rate a person walks is approx. 3-4mph. A relatively healthy person can walk about 20 miles in 8 hours with no rest breaks. Keep in mind, however, that they have to walk only at night, because of Su's sunlight issues, and they have to keep off the roads, to avoid Death Eaters/Snatchers/loyalists to Mort, and Su is still a bit slow because of the damage to her heart, so their progress would be slower.**


	34. Ch 32: All In

**Author's Notes:**

**As promised, here is the second half of that last chapter, split into 2 chapters, because I received a number of PMs and reviews asking me for smaller chapters that came faster. The next chapter won't be up for a few weeks, however, as this fic goes back into my WIP rotation schedule.**

**Please review!**

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_********__CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: All In_

_**Raithlin Island, Northern Ireland**_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (half-past four o'clock P.M.)**_

The sun was nearly set when Ginny and those who'd escaped The Fortress with her had arrived at the pier on Raithlin Island. Immediately, they'd been corralled by Pansy Parkinson, Cris Warrington, and Parvati Patil into a line and escorted to a series of cottages at the end of the main street. Bedraggled and exhausted, they'd all fallen into line without any fuss.

Not that the others could talk to create a stink, because they'd all been Silence'd since last night.

Passing through the front door of the house that had been allocated for their use, Ginny had felt strong protection wards envelope them. On the other side, it was clear an Anti-Apparition spell had also been set-up in advance as well; there would be no getting in or out of the cottage without permission from Malfoy, Parkinson had informed them.

"It's for our protection," the woman had reiterated. "Once you're cleared by a Legilimens, you'll be free to join the rotation around here. Until then... relax and enjoy the beds. They're soft with clean linens. Granger wanted to make sure you were comfortable." As the woman had headed out, she'd called over her shoulder, "Someone will be by with supplies so you can make dinner in about an hour. In the meantime, there are some snacks we found in one of the local stores earlier. It's not much, but they're on the kitchen counter for you. And try out the showers. You've got three bathrooms in this cottage, and we got them all to produce hot water."

There was a mad dash to the bathrooms after that, and Ginny had had to step up and make a queue so there wouldn't be a riot. There were only ten people left to be cleared, but they were ten filthy, exhausted, and hungry people who had been Mort's prisoners for Merlin knew how long. Their flight to freedom through the castle and out through Hogsmeade, their trek across the Irish moor in the dark and through the mud, and their re-incarceration once they'd discovered the rebel encampment in Wicklow had made most of them foul-tempered. They were a group on the edge, who needed some comforts, if there was to be no resolution to their predicament any time soon.

Apparently, Hermione had considered all that when she'd set up this cottage, as it was cheerful and warm with bright colours and a roaring fire already going in the hearth, roomy enough to keep three to a bedroom without crowding, and neat as a pin. There were closets full of Muggle clothes to change into (obviously abandoned wardrobes by the former renters or owners of these houses, but no one cared about that really), and every bed had been made, just as Parkinson had promised. The water had been as hot as pledged, and there had been a cake of soap and small travel bottles of Muggle shampoo left for them to use. The towels had not been fluffy, but they'd been soft enough and clean. The snacks had been only a little out of date, but they hadn't been stale. The water from the tap had been clear and cool, and there had even been left out for them a kettle and a small selection of teas. Using a Replicating Charm, Ginny had been able to produce enough mugs for them all to have a cuppa.

By the time Julie Parkes had come with Terry Boot to their cottage door with a bag of confiscated groceries in hand, most of the group had washed up, changed clothing, and were sitting in front of the fire either on the sofa, in a cosy chair, or on the rug on the floor, huddled close together as survivors of horror were known to do.

Despite their recent freedom and the comforts they'd been gifted here at their new residence, there remained a dull, haunted expression across each face, Ginny noted. She was struck by how desolate each of these strangers looked, and she wondered what exactly they'd seen and experienced to make them seem so fragile. Death, most assuredly, but what other horrors had they faced?

Having been relatively isolated from the brutality for the last two years as she'd been in California with her family (aside from her time within The Fortress with Phil, obviously), Ginny was sure she could barely relate to the kind of tragedy this group had endured here in Britain. She hadn't been tortured, she hadn't been raped (what Phil had done to her to keep their cover from being blown had been done with her permission and had all been an act, so she didn't consider it non-consensual), she hadn't been forced to commit atrocities against the innocent or against her will. She'd suffered death of loved ones, yes, and she'd undergone a very hard pregnancy and labour, and she'd used the Killing Curse for the first time, which still left her cold to the core when she considered it, but overall, she hadn't endured anything she couldn't bounce back from, given time. These people, though... they looked broken, hopeless. They looked like all they were living for was revenge.

She hadn't planned on being a leader, but suddenly, she understood what it meant to be thrust into such a position and to have to rise to the challenge. She got now why Hermione and Malfoy were doing what they were for the cause.

Looking around, she located some objects that no one would miss were she to transfigure them into other things. She created several decks of cards, a static chess set (because animating the pieces to be semi-sentient required a skill she didn't have), a backgammon set, and a set of non-magical Gobstones with a board.

The ruse worked. Her people withdrew from their inner, dark thoughts and began focussing on the distractions she'd provided. Cards were shuffled, table surfaces cleared, and boards were laid out. The hum of returning interest in life, and the relief from boredom filled the air. Partners for the two-player games hooked up with simple nods, and the others participated in team play Gobstone matches or in a round-robin game of Rummy.

It was a quiet party for the next hour as Ginny helped Parkes and Boot fix dinner. The occasional knock on table tops to indicate a turn ended, or the whistles to catch someone's attention or to tell them to hurry up and make a move were the only sounds besides the crackling fire and the noises of cooking.

Ginny watched her group through the doorway of the kitchen, as she helped fix a simple dinner of pasta with canned greens and pieces of dried beef mixed in.

"They'll be all right," Terry encouraged, washing up a series of bowls he'd found in one of the top cabinets. He used a Replicating spell on them when done. "It was the same for us who escaped The Madam's House. If they can do this, they'll be okay."

"I know," Ginny said. "They volunteered to come here and fight, rather than run. There's heart in them still." She finished draining the pasta in a colander transfigured from a pot, as Julie used her wand to open cans of green beans and tomatoes. "It's reminding them that there's more to live for than revenge that's going to be hard." She sighed, feeling the weight of such responsibility upon her small shoulders. Is this what 'Mione felt like every day?

Terry patted her on the shoulder. "You're a Weasley. If anyone can give them a new family to belong to, it's your lot."

Boot was right. Weasleys were known for two things: never giving up, and always making people feel welcome. Squaring her shoulders, she firmed up her courage. After all, if her mother could raise a good, loving family of nine (seven of them men of the most stubborn and wild natures) on a limited budget with few resources, in a small, rickety house that had required constant magical maintenance over the years, then Ginny could do _this._ She would give hope to this group, and when they'd been cleared and were able to have wands, she'd help incorporate them. She'd give them a reason to fight, and to live, just as her brother, Bill, had done for her.

There came a knock on the front door, and a voice she recognised offering a 'Hello' to everyone. As Ginny was wiping her fingers on a _Scourgify'd_ hand towel, Phil stepped into the kitchen. Immediately, she stepped up to him, offering him her kiss. He took it without delay.

"Missed you, Freckles," he said with a bright smile for her.

"Missed you, too. You here to help or to eat?"

"Both," he cheerfully agreed, slapping his hands together and rubbing them enthusiastically. "Put me to work, and hey... what's on the menu?"

As Ginny conscripted him to help with the dinner preparations, it occurred to her how comfortable she and Phil were with each other, despite having been together for only a short period of time. They fell into a natural rhythm as they manoeuvered around the kitchen and dining area; she'd duck under his arm as he'd stretch for something on a top shelf in a cabinet. She'd dish out a bowl of food and he'd take it to the table. He'd reach around her to pick bits of food out of the pot, and she'd slap his wrist with a wooden spoon and tell him to stop being so greedy. It was like they were made for each other.

She went all warm and gooey inside at that thought.

"You good, baby?" Phil asked, noticing she'd stalled in the middle of levelling another serving of food into a bowl.

Embarrassed that she'd been caught daydreaming like some silly, little girl with her first fancy, Ginny stammered out some reply that everything was fine, and finished up her duties with a more concentrated effort.

As she sat down to dine at Phil's side, she kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye, studying his profile, the way he ate, and the little expressions he adopted while shovelling food into his mouth. The more she looked, the more she realised she liked what she was seeing.

When he touched her inappropriately under the table, while pretending to listen intently to whatever it was Boot was saying, Ginny knew she was in serious trouble of falling in love with Philip Cadwallader. She was already dangerously in lust with the man, but everything he did seemed so... perfect. Unlike with Harry, there was no shy fumbling, no nervous twitching or overly-sensitive, careful responses. With Phil, it was like she was free to be herself.

And therein lay the scary part... because all she wanted to do was to introduce Phil to Little "H".

But their relationship was still new, undefined, and there was a war on that threatened its continued existence. And honestly, she wasn't sure how he'd feel about hooking up with a woman who had a kid. She'd been told by Fleur that most men under the age of twenty-five ran screaming for the hills at the idea of commitment, and taking on another man's offspring was as big a commitment as there could be when it came to relationships. What if Phil couldn't handle the idea, especially knowing Little Harry was Harry Potter's child?

One thing was certain: she couldn't keep this secret for much longer. Bill and the other cells they'd been in contact with from across the world were on their way soon to get ready to bring the fight to Mort. Her older brother had predicted it would be over by Christmas, which was a mere two months away. After that, if she and Phil survived and they were still together, he'd discover the truth of her status as a single mother. If she didn't tell him in advance, he would feel she'd lied to him and tricked him, and that would guarantee him walking away.

Worrying her bottom lip, she considered when the best time would be to lay down all her cards.

By the time supper was ended, and she and Phil retired to the single bedroom allotted to her to christen her new bed, she'd decided to tell him about Little "H" within the next few days - as soon as she'd had a chance to talk to Charlie, to check up on Fred and Angelina, and to see Hermione. Being with her family and best girl friend again would bolster her Gryffindor courage enough for her to tackle anything.

**X~~~~~X**

_**Wicklow Mountains, Ireland**_

_**Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (half-past six o'clock P.M.)**_

Charlie held onto Fay's hand and stroked over her aura with his own, wanting to ease her nervousness. By the light of his wand, he watched as she caressed a hand over her abdomen, as if trying to reassure herself and their baby that all would be well. Night had crept over the forest, and beyond the boundary of their Illumination spells, it was pitch black. Nothing stirred, except a small wind that softly whistled through the trees, and the lack of animal noises was eerie.

"Ready?" he asked their group, wanting to get away and into a nice, warm bed as soon as possible. Even for a man who loved the outdoors as much as he did, he'd had enough of sleeping in tents for a while. It would be nice to rest on a proper mattress again.

His sister-in-law, Angelina, was supporting his brother, Fred, who was under the influence of a potion that kept him unconscious. A strong woman with some height on her side, she was able to easily hold his little brother up. "We're good," she let Charlie know with a smirk. "My fool of a husband is down for the next eight hours. You couldn't wake him even with a Stinging Hex to his privates."

Charlie chuckled at that, admiring Angie's spirit. Fred had chosen well.

Theodore Nott was helping Severus Snape to his feet, a blanket wrapped tightly around the sick man's shoulders. It seemed a struggle for their former Potions Professor to stay upright. "Hurry," Theo advised Charlie, a note of anxiety in his tone.

Penelope Clearwater had a similar hold on Neville Longbottom, who was so drugged out on potions, his eyes were rolling around in his head and his mouth was slack. Charlie doubted the poor man even knew where he was right then. "Some help here," Clearwater groused. "He's heavier than he looks."

In an instant, Granger stepped out of the darkness and was at their side. "I've got him."

She must have timed her Apparation to coincide with the last group to port out, because Charlie hadn't heard the crack of thunder signalling her arrival. Sneaky witch.

Zabini started swearing, and tightened his hold on McLaggen, whose hands were bound behind his back, and who was still magically _Silence'd _and blind. The man's head jerked in Granger's direction the moment she'd swooped in, Charlie noticed.

"What are you doing here?" Blaise impolitely asked Hermione. "You were told-"

Even as she slung Longbottom's free-swinging shoulder over her own, she glared at Zabini. "Shut it. I'm doing my bloody job." She looked around at the small group, the last to leave Wicklow. "Who's got the Portkey?"

Charlie held up a blue-striped kitchen towel that Cornfoot had handed him earlier. "Here."

"All right, let's move," she commanded, helping her charge take the several steps closer to reach Charlie's side. "Everyone else is already eating dinner."

Holding out the towel, Charlie prepared the Portus spell in his mind. "Everyone grab hold."

With help, everyone had a hand either on the Portkey itself or on someone who had a firm grip on it.

"On three," Charlie said. "One-"

In a move no one had suspected, McLaggen suddenly, wandlessly and non-verbally, transfigured himself into a wolf. Zabini's hold on him completely let loose, and Cormac's clothing and the ropes securing him went slack, freeing the Tracker. His eyes, which had been blinded in human form, were no longer white, indicating he'd broken that spell as well.

"Shit!" Blaise shouted, as McLaggen took off through the trees at a speed none of them could match on foot. Strangely, he stopped at the very edge of their wandlight and looked back at Hermione. She turned, took a step in McLaggen's direction…

Charlie reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her from doing something truly foolish. "Longbottom and Snape need you _here,"_ he firmly reminded her. "McLaggen's made his choice. Leave him to his fate."

Coinciding with Charlie's declaration, Severus began hacking, the prolonged exposure to the cold harming his lungs. He collapsed to his knees, and it took Theo precious seconds to get the old man back on his feet.

Indecision warred on Hermione's face, and for a moment, Charlie really thought she'd go running after the Tracker – especially when the little blighter turned to stare at her straight-on, as if inviting her to come after him. When she turned back to the group and reaffirmed her grip on the Portkey, though, Charlie knew she'd made the right decision.

"Keep counting," she told him, refusing to look back over her shoulder at the wolf that continued to wait for her.

"Okay," Charlie said, backing her play.

Her jaw was tight, a gleam of sweat dotted her upper lip, and her dark eyes were pained, but she nodded in agreement. "Draco's this way," she said more to herself than to the group, indicating the Portkey.

"Right. On three," Charlie began again. "One, two, three. _Portus._"

Right as they were tugged away by the spell, Charlie caught Hermione glance back over her shoulder at McLaggen. "Goodbye," she whispered.

A mournful wolf's howl followed them away.

**X~~~~~X**

**_Raithlin Island, Northern Ireland_**

**_Tuesday, October 31, 2000 (a few minutes later)_**

Deciding to leave Cormac behind had been one of the hardest things Hermione had ever done.

The moment he'd transfigured himself into his wolf form, the female wolf within her had enthusiastically responded. The pull of Cor's Alphaness had been so strong it had nearly buckled her knees. When he'd stopped at the tree line, and looked back at her, the silent call had come for her to follow him. He'd put everything he'd had behind that lure, and Godric help her, Hermione had almost caved. Charlie's reminder of her injured, helpless friends needing her help was all that had stopped her from going to the former Tracker's side, of taking off with him through the forest on four legs, of forgetting who she was and letting him take her as his mate.

Merlin, she'd almost deserted! She'd almost betrayed her feelings for Draco! The thought of how close she'd come to doing both terrified her.

Hearing Cormac's plaintive goodbye distressed her even more as they'd ported out. The echo of his lamenting howl followed her down the magical tunnel as they left Wicklow behind forever. She had to shut her eyes against the urge to turn back.

The moment she and the others touched down at Raithlin, she opened her eyes to see Draco waiting on the pier for them. His anger was hard to miss; it appeared as a living, writhing aura, surrounding him, black diamond shapes sparking and disappearing in random patterns throughout. It was darker than even the night that closed in around them.

Ignoring the others, his fury was completely focussed on her, as she'd expected. She had disobeyed his direct order not to go back to Wicklow, after all.

Gathering her righteousness around her like a cloak, Hermione met his anger head-on, refusing to apologise for having snuck off. She'd made it clear earlier that day exactly what she'd intended to do, and how she'd had no intention of letting Draco's orders interfere with her plans. She'd also made it clear that she wouldn't be his bitch to whip. She met his cold, iron stare with one of her own, tilting her chin up in defiance.

"McLaggen got away," Zabini reported to his superior, stepping between his Captain and his friend. Clearly, the man understood a confrontation was in order between his two commanders, and was doing his best to distract from it. "He non-verbally Transfigured himself into a wolf and ran off before I could Stun him."

Draco's fury whipped out in front of him as tendrils of inky, black smoke that shot forward, knocking Zabini clear off his feet, and launching him twenty feet into the air, dumping him into the ocean.

"Oh, my God!" Fay cried out as Blaise fell with a splash into the freezing ocean.

Everyone stopped for a moment, too stunned that Malfoy would do such a thing to react.

Quick on his feet, Charlie whipped out his wand a beat later and levitated Blaise back towards the pier, as the man sputtered to the surface and paddled around.

Hermione rounded on Draco, incensed by such a show of cruelty. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" She ducked out from under Neville's arm, and indicated that Fay was to take her place. Dunbar hurried to their Housemate's side and took up the slack, even as Charlie directed a soaking wet Zabini down on dry land a few feet away.

Stomping up to Draco, Hermione pointed her wand at him. He remained glacial in the face of her threat, completely unfazed. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but enough is enough! You and me, we're having it out once and for all!"

Draco stared down the length of her wand, his iron-hard eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. He reminded her of a real dragon just then, weighing in on the halfling that had annoyed him.

"Yes, we are," he agreed.

Taking hold of her arm in a fast, strong grab, he Side-Along Apparated her with a 'pop'.

They landed in a semi-dark, unoccupied bedroom inside a house. A fireplace against the far wall emitted a flickering, orange glow that cast most of the room in shadow, but there was enough light for her to see a freshly-made bed nearby, and a dresser just beyond. She recognised it as the bedroom she'd set up for him in the designated Command Centre.

Before she could demand answers, she was shoved against the wall and Draco's large body was pressed against hers. He lowered his mouth to her ear, and hissed at her, clearly irate. "You were tempted by him. When he changed, you were tempted! You almost went to him," he seethed. His breath blew hard against her throat, and his whole body shook with repressed rage.

"I-" she began, but he cut her off with a snap of his teeth.

"Don't think to lie to me, Granger! Even though you were so far away, I _felt_ you answering his call. It tore at my heart. I nearly went out of my skin to get to you to stop you, but by then I felt you coming back here." He gripped her arms and shook her once. "This game you're playing with me, it's driving me insane, witch! Don't you see what you're doing to me?"

"What _I'm_ doing to you?" she shouted back, pushed to her limits. She let her anger have its way with her mouth. "It's not me who has the problem here, Draco. It's _you._ You've changed. Something in you has changed. Don't you see it? There's something wrong with you!"

He growled, and it sounded more animal than human. "You're right. Something is very wrong with me. It's this... caring for you! This _needing_ you! It's eating me up inside. I don't know how to handle it!"

"Oh, well, if I'm that much of a burden to you-" she challenged.

"You don't get it," he snapped. "The last person I needed was my mother. When she killed herself, I swore I'd never be that vulnerable again. Then I ran into you hiding in Amberley Castle. Two years, Granger. That's all it took for you to dig under my skin and invade my peace." He gripped the sides of his head and mussed his hair. "You're in my blood, witch. You're behind my eyelids. You're everywhere I look or think or breathe! You've changed me. I hardly feel like my old self anymore."

Offended, Hermione got her back up. "As if _that _was a person to aspire to! Or perhaps you've forgotten how truly rotten you were to everyone back then? Shall I remind you of how much you tormented me?" She shoved him back. "Maybe this is your Karma come for you at last, Malfoy. Maybe this caring that's supposedly killing you is exactly what you deserve for all the years you could have cared less about others." She moved past him and headed for the door.

She managed three steps before Draco grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"We're not finished."

Trying to pull away proved impossible; his grip refused to be shaken off. "Let go," she warned, raising her wand to her chest level, the threat clear.

"No," he braved. "No more running away from me. I've had enough of seeing your back."

He stepped into her, cupping the side of her cheek, and stared down at her as if torn between fury and anguish. "I nearly went out of my mind with worry when I realised you'd disobeyed and gone back to Wicklow, but then to feel your desire for that twat, McLaggen - to know you wanted him to take you, to _mate_ you..._"_

He shut his eyes for a moment as the shaking in his body took up once again. He was like one of those old wind-up toys whose gears had gone bad.

"I've barely slept or taken food in months, ever since Kirkwall. Every day you were gone, I'd wake up feeling hollow inside, as if a part of me was missing. I never gave you up, though. I searched everywhere for a sign that you were still alive. I ran myself into the ground looking for you, Granger. When I finally do find you, what do I see? You've got that fucking bastard who raped you touching you, pretending to be your knight in shining armour!" His fingers shifted, tangling up in her hair, holding her head captive and forcing her to meet his accusatory glare. "And you let him! You let him take that position, despite everything he's done to you, because your bleeding heart wants to help him find redemption. As if he could ever be forgiven for what he's done!"

She stared him dead in the eye as she handed him his arse for dinner. "I forgave you with that same bleeding heart, Draco. You did plenty of despicable things in the past, too. Don't think I haven't forgotten that you were the first person to call me 'Mudblood", or how much you tormented me, Harry, and Ron as children, or that you let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, or that you attempted to kill Dumbledore. And yet, I forgave you for all of it."

He seemed torn. "I've never understood why."

"Because in your heart, you are a good man," she explained. "I saw it that day in Amberley, and I've seen it every day since. You've made a few bad decisions in your life, but you've done what you could to make up for it. It's the same for Cormac."

Just mentioning the other man's name got Draco's hackles up. "The difference is I've never hurt you like that!"

"No, you just stood back and let your Aunt hurt me instead."

It was a low blow, but she figured as long as they were being completely honest with each other…

He flinched. "You stink of lust for him," he snarled in accusation, going on the offensive. "I can smell it all over you, so don't bother denying it!"

"Merlin's bloody bones, you are such an arse, Draco Malfoy!" She screamed behind her teeth in frustration. "I _don't_ want Cormac McLaggen any more than you want Astoria Greengrass! It's the wolf transformation, you bloody idiot. That's all it is!" She reached up and poked him in the shoulder. "And the last time I checked, I'm not the one with the illegitimate child conceived under the sway of such magic, so don't you dare go around tossing stones about lusting after someone you don't want to want!"

That gave him pause. He looked astonished, in fact, as if the thought never occurred to him how similar their situations were.

"Do you think it was easy for me to have heard that you'd fucked Tori? What do you think that knowledge does to me? Do you think I want to imagine your mouth on her, your body inside hers, your baby growing in her womb?" Her chest hitched with pain. "She gave you her virginity of her own free will. I'll never get that chance."

Now tears gathered and wavered before her eyes, as the truth of her own jealousy ripped into her.

"Do you know how much it hurts to know that while I was doing my best to keep it together, waiting for you to come home to me, you were lusting after another woman?" She scrubbed at her face, embarrassed by the moisture that fell unchecked down her cheeks. "Our situations were the same, don't you see? The only difference was, I held out against temptation. But I also know now that it would be wrong to blame you for being weakened by such magic, because I finally appreciate how hard it is to ignore what happens with animal Transfiguration. I didn't understand before. Now I do. It was a mistake to have ever used such a spell."

Which is why Falco Aesalon invented the Animagus spell to begin with. Based on the same type of magic as the Patronus spell, rather than on an actual Trans-species Transformation spell, the Animagus magic creates no confusion between the human and animal part of your brain, as you wholly retain your own emotions and are not impacted by an instinct that is not your own. Hence the reason it's a more difficult spell to master, if you've the ability at all.

"Do I feel sorry for Cormac? Of course," she forcibly continued. "He didn't ask to be reprogrammed to do evil. So, I've had to learn to forgive him for his trespasses against me, for my own peace of mind." She stared up at him with defiance, despite the tears blurring her sight. "And yes, I felt Cor's powerful pull tonight, and it was very hard to deny it, but I _did_ reject it, Draco. I turned it aside and took the Portkey. I'll always come back to you. _To you._"

Her words had been the exact right thing to say, apparently, because Draco's anger simply dissolved like a curtain of fog before the parting of the clouds. His tense posture relaxed and he went totally loose against her. His shaking dissipated. Still, he sounded tortured and unsure when he asked, "Is that a promise I can count on?"

Hermione closed the distance between them, dropped her forehead to his chest, and sighed. "'Three times proved – call a thing true'," she repeated the ditty she'd learned in Advanced Arithmancy back in school. She entwined her arms around his neck and held him to her. "Three times I've left your side, and three times I've returned to it, Draco, so I think it's safe to say that if I'm ever lost again, I'll find my way back to you, no matter what. So, yes, it's a promise."

Draco wrapped himself around her, clutching her to him as if he'd never let go. "Nothing and no one holds me to this life as you do, Granger. Everything I am and do is for you. Don't you see that?"

She held him a little closer to her and with a firmer grasp, his sentiment touching her deeply.

Malfoy wasn't much for flowery prose or romantic gestures. He wasn't much for talking about his feelings. He acted on them, yes, but he rarely expressed them with words. That he was letting down his guard finally, sharing with her his vulnerabilities… it made the bond between them even more profound.

"You want to know the truth? There are days I want to give it all up and run from the responsibility," he confessed, sounding weary. "It feels like too much. The enormity of what we're up against… I'm tired of planning people's deaths. I'm tired of burials, and scrounging for food, and sleeping in tents. Sometimes, I feel as if I have no hope left."

Hermione nodded against his chest, letting him know she could intimately relate.

"A few years ago, I'd have tucked tail and gone into hiding." He tightened his hold on her and pressed his face into her hairline. "Now, I can't even contemplate the idea, because the thought of you fighting this goddamned war on your own…" He panted hard, as if pained by the very thoughts in his head. "Don't you get it, witch? You hold me here, because I can't stand to see _you_ hurt or afraid ever again! The thought of it shreds me inside and out."

"We're in the middle of a war, Draco," she said, reminding him of their hard reality. "Getting hurt or worse is a very real possibility for both of us. You can't prevent that from happening by chaining me to your side. You have to give me the freedom to do what I must – to be your partner in this fight."

He heaved a heavy sigh. "Don't you think I know that? But… 'three times proved', you said. Well, three times you've been badly hurt on my watch. Three times I've failed you." He sounded bitterly forlorn about that fact. "All three times, all I could do was watch you cry, Granger. That guilt eats me up inside."

Hermione surmised he was referring to the three specific incidents where he'd witnessed the absolute worst of her pain: the day she'd been held captive at his Manor House and tortured by his mad Aunt, the aftermath of being raped that first time by Cormac, and the mental breakdown she'd had that night on the beach in Kirkwall, when he'd held her back and kept her from attempting suicide by drowning in the ocean. It never occurred to her that Draco had suffered along with her during those times, feeling helpless to ease her suffering.

In her arrogance, she'd been so convinced that he'd viewed those three separate episodes as _her_ weakness that she'd never once stopped to consider that he might have thought of them as _his_ as well.

Suddenly, his ridiculous decrees from yesterday and this morning now made a whole lot more sense. They were still wrong, and she intended on setting him straight in regards to them, but at least now she had a better idea as to why he'd been such an intolerable control freak: he'd been afraid for her safety.

"Draco, I don't see it that way. Bad things happen, sometimes to good people, and it's not fair or right, but it happens nonetheless. It's what you do _after_ tragedy that matters the most." She reached up and stroked over his cheek. "Three times you've comforted me. Three times you've lent me your strength and helped me to find my courage again. The day you found me on the ground after I'd been…" She still found it hard to admit what had been done to her, and swallowed around the lump in her throat that manifested at the thought. "You gave me your cloak and let me cry on your shoulder, and then you challenged me to get up and move on. Every day you reminded me that I was only a victim if I chose to be. You gave me the strength to recover. You did it again that night on the beach in Kirkwall. You brought me in, warmed me, and held me while I slept. The next day, you remember what you said to me? You said, 'You are never weak. I won't let you be.' And you didn't. You were there to get me up and to remind me that I could be tougher."

He shook his head to refute her, but she cut him off, before he could spoil her intentions of highlighting his Gryffindor tendencies.

"And then you gave me Sning." She held up her hand between them, showing the little snake ring on her finger. "He's protected me, and he's been my companion off and on since. So, you see, you didn't fail me. You were there when I most needed you." She stroked over his jaw with a light touch of her fingertips, even as another round of tears escaped down her cheeks. His gaze was heavily lidded as he looked down upon her and listened, but she could have sworn she saw a glimmer in his eyes, too. "I know you think of me as your greatest weakness, but I think of you as my greatest strength, Draco. I want us to be both to each other, for now and always."

The declaration left no room for doubt as to her feelings. She held her breath, waiting for his response.

The very air shivered with anticipation and hope as his mouth parted and he lowered his face towards hers.

"I love you, Granger," he whispered the instant before his lips touched down upon hers.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut as she went loose and accepting in his arms, and... oh, it was such a sweet, reverent kiss! She returned it with a little eagerness, tightening her grip on his shoulders. His tongue was soft as it parted her mouth and slipped inside to stroke against hers. She gave a little moan of delight.

A brusque, loud knock sounded on the bedroom door, abruptly shattering the moment and breaking them apart.

"What is it?" Draco demanded, his irritation returning in a flash. He ran a hand through his shaggy, messy hair again, clearly frustrated. "This had better be good," he growled under his breath.

Zabini's voice came from the other side.

"Drake, I hope I am totally interrupting your 'Business Time' and have now completely ruined the mood for you, you bastard, because you'd deserve it! Sorry, Granger! Anyway, I just wanted you to know that everyone made it inside safely. Pansy and Weasley are assigning watch duties. Clearwater and Dunbar are working with Morag, Johnson, and Daphne on making sure Snape, Longbottom, and Fred Weasley are stable and resting. Theo's decided to take the empty room next to Severus' to help the girls out. She-Weasel is keeping an eye on the newbies from The Fortress along with Cadwallader, Boot, and Parkes, and Pucey's back in the kitchen, grumbling about people rearranging his spices. I'm going to take a shower now, because I'm _fucking_ freezing my nads off, and there's kelp in my trousers and that just _doesn't_ feel right! You're welcome, you arsehole!"

With that, he stomped off, his boots thudding away down the hall making squishy noises.

Hermione had to bite back a giggle. "You're going to owe him a big time apology."

Draco sighed. "I know, and the sooner the better. If he stews over it, I'll pay twice as hard tomorrow." He glanced at her, regret in his eyes for having to leave her.

"Duty calls," she murmured with her own sigh. "I'm starving. Think I'll go and talk Pucey into hurrying it up with dinner. Have you eaten?" He shook his head. "Come have dinner with me in half an hour?"

He nodded, and gave her a smirk that was actually playful. "It's a date."

With that, he headed out, leaving the door open behind him.

The sudden sound of people returning to conversation and action filtered in from elsewhere in the house, and for the first time, Hermione realised that her people had been listening in on her rather heated discussion with Draco. They'd heard the shouting parts, obviously, and were most likely putting it together in their wicked, little heads what the quiet parts had meant. She'd need to remember to cast privacy spells in the future, especially in light of what had just been confessed and where it might lead.

Running her fingers over her lips, she smiled.

Draco loved her. He'd finally admitted it!

Nothing would stand in the way of her having him now. Not his jealousy and stubbornness, and not hers, and most especially not interference from outside parties. Viktor, Astoria, and Cormac were gone, and although she worried for them and wished them well, she wasn't going to let their ghosts haunt her relationship with Draco.

From now on, she would live in the present, rather than the past, and she'd plan for the future - a future that included Draco at her side, Harry saved, and the war finally won.

* * *

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Well, things are heating up for our main couple at last. I bet that relieves some of you. You knew we'd get here, eventually, right? _Right?_ **

**You just need to trust your author, dearest readers. :)**

**'Business Time' is in homage to Flight of the Conchords' song of the same name. I've been dying to use that reference somewhere in a fanfic. ;)**


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